^H 


A  UNIVERSIT 


■ 


to 


rl^e    Indiana    University. 


F\    University    TVamp, 

L —  **^~ 


-BY- 


Orrin  2d.  h)ukk>etl. 


lLLU^Tl^A^^^- 


"Tramping   hath  ehaimrss  to  give  the  tifed  nest; 
CUe  go  ;   but  uue  fetunn  neffeshed." 


ELKHART,   IND. 
Geo.  W.  Butler,  Publisher. 

1889. 


Entered  according  to  act  of  Congress  in  the  year  18S9, 

BY  GEO.  W.  BUTLER, 

In  the  office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington: 


To    t\\e    "  Tramp^," 

Who  enjoyed  the  pleasures,  and 

suffered  the  annoyances  of 

the  trip,   this  volume  is 

kindly   inscribed. 


u 


Beg  Pardon." 


The  subject  matter  of  the  following  pages  first  appeared  as  a  series  of  letters  to 
the  daily  press  of  Elkhart,  Indiana.     At  that  time,  the  writer  had  no  intention 
of  presenting  these  letters  in  this  form.     The  first  of  them  were  written  hastily 
while  the  writer  was  abroad,  and  the  remainder  during  a  hotly  contested,  polit- 
ical campaign,  in  which  he  was  actively  engaged  as  a  candidate.     At  the  request 
of  the  publisher,  Mr.  Geo.  W.  Butler,  the  manuscript  was  placed,  in  his  hands 
for  publication  in  book  form.     On  account  of  professional  and  other  duties,  the 
writer  has  been  unable  to  revise  the  manuscript,  and  it  is  now  presented  in  this 
way,  with  many  misgivings,  but  with  the  hope  that  a  considerate  public  may  find 
the  book  of  some  interest,  notwithstanding  its  defects. 

O.  Z.  H. 

Elkhart,  Ind.,  May  14,  i88g. 


©ontent^. 


CHAPTER  1. 
The  Voyage  Out — Ireland,  And  the  Arri- 
val in  Scotland i 

CHAPTER   2. 
Glasgow — The   Cathedral,    the    necropo- 
lis, The  University 10 

CHAPTER  3. 
Customs,  Hotels,  Railroads 15 

CHAPTER  4. 
Loch  Lomond,  Loch  Katrine,  The  Trossachs.        22 

CHAPTER   5. 
Stirling,  Edinburgh,  Holy  Rood 29 

CHAPTER  6. 
Melrose,  Abbotsford,  Dryburgh 36 

CHAPTER  7. 
Cambridge  University 44 

CHAPTER  8. 
Rotterdam,  The  Hague,  "The  House  in  the 

Woods."  .• 49 

CHAPTER  9. 
Cologne — The  Cathedral,  St.  Ursula,  Ro- 

landseck 58 


—  VI  — 

CHAPTER  ]0. 
Up  the  Rhine,   St.  Goar,   German  Peasant 

Life 66 

CHAPTER   11. 
The  Rhinefels,  A  Prussian  School,  Wies-  . 

BADEN 84 

CHAPTER  12. 
Heidelberg 96 

CHAPTER  13. 
Nuremberg,  Bavaria,  Munich 108 

CHAPTER   14. 
Austria,  Salzburg,  The  Koenigsee,  Berch- 

tesgaden 121 

CHAPTER  15. 
St.  John  in  Pongau,  Zell  am  See,  Innsbruck, 

The  Brenner  Pass 132 

CHAPTER.   16. 
Italy,  Verona,  Italian  Women,  Italy's  Prog- 
ress         139 

CHAPTER    17. 
Venice  and  Florence 147 

CHAPTER  18. 
Rome 160 

CHAPTER  19. 
Naples,  Pompeii,  Herculaneum,  The  Ascent 

of  Mt.  Vesuvius 172 

CHAPTER   20. 
Pisa,    Genoa,    Milan,    "The   Last  Supper," 

.  Lake  Como 180 


—  VII  — 

CHAPTER   21. 

Lugano,  Mt.  San  Salvatore,  The  St.  Gott- 
hard  Pass,  Swiss  Character,  The 
Rigi  19° 

CHAPTER  22. 
Lucerne,  Berne,    Geneva,  Chamounix,  The 

Mer  de  Glace 203 

CHAPTER  23. 
The  Tete  Noire   Pass,  Pedestrianism,   Ar- 
rival at  Zermatt,  Guides,  Mountain 
Dangers 210 

CHAPTER   24. 
Scrambles  Around  Zermatt 220 

CHAPTER  25. 
The    Gemmi,    Interlaken,  The    Staubbach 
Falls,    The    Grindelwald    Glacier, 
The  Giesbach  Falls 241 

CHAPTER  26. 
The  Falls  of  the  Rhine,  the  Black  Forest, 

Strassburg,  Paris 251 

CHAPTER  27. 
London,  Oxford,  Stratford-on-Avon,  The 

Voyage  Home ...         260 

CHAPTER  28. 
The  Arrival  Home,  America,  A  Retrospect.         273 


Li^t   of    Illustration^. 


The  Indiana  University Frontispiece . 

Londonderry    (Moville) Facing  8 

Glasgow  Cathedral ' '  12 

The  Cathedral  and  the  Necropolis  Glasgow.. .  "  14 

Dumbarton  Castle  and  Pier. "  22 

The  Falls  of  Inversnaid "  24 

Ellen's  Isle,  Loch  Katrine "  26 

In  the  Trossachs "  28 

Holy  Rood  Palace ' '  33 

The  Ruins  of  Melrose  Abbey   "  36 

A  Castle  on  the  Rhine "  69 

Heidelberg  Castle "  96 

The   "Tramps" "  131 

A  Scene  in  Venice ' '  148 

A  Venetian  Street "  152 

St.  Peter's — Rome "  162 

Pompeii "  172 

Disinterred  Objects  in  the  Museum,  Pompeii. .  "  174 

The  Mer  de  Glace , .  "  207 

The  Matterhorn "  225 

Grindelwald  and  the  Wetterhorn "  248 

Church  of  Notre  Dame,  Paris "  257 

Paris  Exhibition "  258 

Liverpool "  268 


©rj&pter  I. 


The  voyage  out — Ireland,  and  the  arrival  in 

Scotland. 

It  is  now  some  months  since  there  came  into  the 
writer's  hands,  a  circular,  announcing  the  "Fifth  Biennial 
Outing  of  the  Indiana  University — a  unique  and 
inexpensive  vacation  tour  through  Scotland,  England, 
Holland,  Germany,  Austria,  Italy,  Switzerland  and 
France — arranged  for  students,  teachers,  librarians  and 
others  of  like  needs  and  disposition." 

Being  of  a  "like  disposition"  I  was  soon  in  cor- 
respondence with  the  director  of  the  proposed  "vacation 
tour,"  and  the  result  was  that  I  became  the  possessor 
of  a  ticket  across  the  Atlantic  on  the  steamship 
Ethiopia,  and  to  return  on  the  palatial  City  of  Rome, 
both  of  the  Anchor  line. 

This  being  accomplished,  other  arrangements  were 
soon  concluded,  and  I  found  myself  speculating  on  the 
kind  of  a  voyage  we  should  have,  the  kind  of  people 
who  would  comprise  the  party,  and  what  impressions 
the  contact  with  the  foreign  people  would  make  upon 
me ;  while  a  hundred  other  thoughts  and  fancies  crowded 
thick  upon  my  mind. 

Chief  among  my  mental  inquiries  was:  "What  kind 
of  a  boat  is  the  Ethiopia!"  I  visited  the  steamer  the 
day  before  she  sailed,  and  found  her  to  be  a  first-class 
boat,  four  hundred  and  twenty  feet  in  length,  forty  feet 

l 


wide,  with  a  corresponding  depth  of  hold.  She  has 
been  afloat  over  fifteen  years  and  has  never  met  with  an 
accident,  and  is  especially  adapted  to  weather  storms. 
I  was  courteously  shown  over  the  boat,  and  was  informed 
that  the  crew  consisted  of  more  than  a  hundred  men, 
and  that  she  would  carry  about  five  hundred  passengers 
from  New  York  for  Glasgow.  After  visiting  my  state- 
room and  finding  everything  satisfactory,  I  returned  to 
my  hotel,  feeling  that  I  could  trust  the  Ethiopia  to  carry 
me  across  the  sea. 

On  the  morning  of  June  nth,  we  were  conveyed 
to  the  steamer  which  sails  from  Pier  41,  North  River. 
At  the  pier  everything  was  in  a  hurry  and  a  bustle. 
Porters  were  carrying  trunks,  bundles  and  steamer 
chairs,  valises,  robes,  rugs  and  everything  that  the  vari- 
ous voyagers  thought  necessary  to  the  comfort  of  a  sea 
voyage.  Hackmen  were  yelling  and  shouting,  whips 
were  cracking,  people  were  rushing  about  seemingly 
without  any  object,  others  were  saying  good-bye,  which 
might  prove  to  be  their  last  farewell.  The  river  was 
alive  with  boats  that  tried  to  drown  each  other  in  the 
noise  of  their  shrill  whistles.  Men  were  rushing  on  board 
and  off  again,  everything  was  confusion.  A  few,  our- 
selves among  them,  after  going  on  board,  sat  quietly  on 
the  hurricane  deck,  silent  observers  of  the  scene  of  con- 
fusion around  us.  Our  luggage  was  all  on  board;  we 
had  found  our  steamer  chairs.  We  had  no  more  to  do. 
We  had  no  good-byes  to  say.  Among  all  the  interested 
spectators  on  the  pier  there  was  not  one  who  knew  us,  or 
cared  for  our  fate,  except  as  our  fate  would  be  that  of 
their  friends  on  board.  Finally  the  whistle  sounded,  a 
thrill  ran  through  the  boat,  the  gang  planks  were  drawn 


—  3  — 

back,  and  we  were  moving  away  from  the  pier,  into  the 
river,  our  connection  with  land  severed  until  we  again 
stepped  upon  a  foreign  shore.  The  Umbria,  of  the 
Cunard  Line,  the  La  Normandie,  of  the  French  line,  and 
a  steamer  of  the  Inman  line  left  their  piers  about  the 
same  time.  Who  can  tell  what  a  day  will  bring  forth? 
Who  would  have  thought  on  that  bright  June  morn- 
ing, that  three  boats,  leaving  at  the  same  time, 
on  the  same  ocean,  going  nearly  the  same  course,  would 
have  such  different  voyages?  The  Umbria  had  the 
roughest  voyage  since  she  has  been  afloat,  being  bewil- 
dered and  lost  in  a  fog.  For  hours  she  lay  still,  continually 
sounding  her  whistle.  Another  struck  bad  weather  a 
day  out,  and  for  eleven  days  the  sea  rolled  over  her 
decks,  tossing  her  about  like  a  cork.  When  we  met 
some  of  the  passengers  from  these  two  boats  in  Scotland, 
who  told  us  of  their  experience,  we  could  scarcely  believe 
it.  From  the  first,  except  one  night,  we  had  almost 
perfect  weather  and  one  ot  the  smoothest  voyages  ever 
made  by  the  Ethiopia.  Yet  during  the  whole  time 
we  could  not  have  been  far  distant  from  the  other  boats. 
The  one  exception  to  our  pleasant  weather,  was  the  night 
of  the  fourth  day  out.  The  sun  had  gone  down  into  the 
sea  in  the  west,  in  a  blaze  ot  glory.  We  had  long 
lingered  on  deck,  and  finally  had  gone  to  our  state-rooms 
and  to  our  berths.  I  do  not  know  how  long  I  had  been 
asleep. 

My  first  sensation  upon  awakening  was,  that  I  was 
alternately  standing  on  my  head,  and  then  on  my  feet. 
Then  I  found  myself  trying  to  force  a  passage  through 
the  side  of  the  vessel  and  failing  in  this,  I  seemed  to 
have  an  insane  impulse  to  fly  into  the  opposite  state-room. 


I  tried  to  tell  my  wife  that  there  was  no  danger,  but  the 
words  were  drowned  in  the  roar  of  the  elements.  Then 
there  came  a  series  of  short,  sharp  shocks,  while  the 
good  ship  heaved  and  pitched  and  rolled  from  side  to 
side,  and  creaked  and  strained  like  a  sentient  thing  in 
agony.  As  the  huge  waves  struck  us,  we  could  hear  the 
water  pour  in  torrents  over  the  deck.  The  sensation  all 
this  produced  on  one  unaccustomed  to  the  sea,  was  not 
highly  pleasurable.  But  toward  morning  the  storm 
abated  its  fury,  although  the  heavy  swell  of  the  sea  con- 
tinued far  into  the  following  day.  It  was  a  veritable 
"night  upon  the  ocean  and  a  storm  upon  the  sea." 
With  this  exception,  and  the  almost  inevitable  "Mai  de 
mere"  which  accompanied  it,  the  voyage  was  one  of 
continued  delight.  The  sun  shone  brightly  and  warmly, 
but  few  wraps  were  needed,  and  the  sea  was  as  tranquil 
and  quiet  as  it  ever  is.  The  voyage  was  almost  devoid 
of  incident.  The  occasional  spouting  of  a  whale,  the 
appearance  of  a  school  of  porpoises,  a  passing  steamboat 
and  an  occasional  "sail"  were  all  that  were  calculated  to 
create  any  excitement. 

Leaving  Sandy  Hook  light  ship  abeam,  we  sailed 
two  degrees  north  of  east  for  three  days,  at  the  average 
rate  of  265  miles  per  day.  Then  changing  to  the  south 
of  east,  we  escaped  the  banks  of  Newfoundland  at  the 
expense  of  nearly  a  day's  time.  The  course  was  then 
changed  to  north,  55  degrees  east,  and  it  thereafter 
varied  within  that  and  north,  75  degrees  east  until  land 
was  sighted  on  the  tenth  day.  The  largest  day's  run  was 
310  miles. 

The  inexperienced  person,  on  board  ship,  is  sur- 
prised to  find  how  soon  and  easily  he  becomes  acquainted 


with  every  one.  In  this  respect  there  is  little  formality, 
and  though  your  ship  acquaintances  may  not  know  you  a 
half  hour  after  leaving  the  boat,  they  are  boon  compan- 
ions while  imprisoned  on  the  ship  hundreds  of  miles 
from  land.  For  a  time  all  are  bound  in  a  common 
destiny,  and  this  community  of  interests  seems  to 
thaw  out  the  springs  of  social  intercourse.  I  had  heard 
much  of  the  monotony  of  a  sea  voyage,  but  I  did  not 
experience  it.  The  time  seemed  to  me  to  pass  too 
rapidly.  Night  followed  day  in  astonishing  rapidity. 
Reading,  conversation,  games  and  eating  are  the  prin- 
cipal occupations  of  the  voyagers.  With  some,  it  is  chiefly 
eating.  Of  all  things  to  create  an  appetite,  the  sea  is  the 
best.  We  had  breakfast  at  eight,  lunch  at  one,  and  din- 
ner at  five  o'clock.     How  everybody  did  eat! 

Sailors  are  always  kept  busy  even  when  there  seems 
to  be  no  earthly  reason  for  the  work,  unless  it  be  upon 
the  theory  that  constant  employment  keeps  them  in  better 
humor.  They  are  not  permitted  to  be  idle  a  minute  while 
on  duty.  One  set  of  them  is  continually  doing  some- 
thing which  another  set  as  constantly  undoes.  Some  will 
put  up  a  canvass,  and  when  they  have  gone  away,  others 
will  come  and  take  it  down.  They  are  continually  paint- 
ing the  ship,  cleaning  the  masts  and  yard  arms,  scraping 
off  the  paint  and  repainting  them,o  reefing  and  unreefing 
sails,  and  everything  else  that  the  officers  can  devise. 
Every  day  at  noon  the  captain  takes  his  observations,  to 
determine  in  what  latitude  and  longitude  the  ship  is;  and 
to  compute  the  distance  and  course  she  has  run  since 
noon  of  the  preceeding  day.  Then  the  difference  of  time 
is  calculated,  and  the  clock  set  ahead,  and  the  entry  of  all 
these  things  made  in  the  "log"   and  displayed,  where 


—  6  — 

each  one  can  copy  it  on  a  track  chart  if  he  is  so  dis- 
posed. The  time  is  divided  into  watches  and  is  indicated 
by  striking  a  bell.  The  seamen  do  not  speak  of  one 
o'clock,  etc.,  as  we  do  on  land,  but  of  so  many  bells  of 
such  a  watch.  Each  officer  with  a  portion  of  the  crew 
is  on  duty  during  one  watch,  and  the  watches  are  so 
arranged  that  he  comes  on  duty  each  day  at  a  different 
time,  so  that  by  this  means  the  night  work  is  evenly 
divided  among  all  of  the  crew.  During  our  voyage  out, 
we  had  many  fine  days,  but  finest  of  all  was  the  21st 
day  of  June.  We  were  in  latitude  58  degrees  8  minutes 
north,  and  longitude  10  degrees  26  minutes  west,  about 
sixty  miles  off  the  west  coast  of  Ireland,  and  seventy-six 
miles  from  "Tory  Island,"  toward  which  we  were  going. 
In  my  experience  the  day  was  without  a  parallel.  The 
bright  morning  sun  smiles  out  God's  love  upon  our 
receptive  and  responsive  hearts.  The  Ethiopia  glides 
smoothly  over  the  almost  unbroken  level  of  the  sea.  The 
sky  is  tinged  with  an  ultramarine  blue  as  delicate  as  the 
violet's  hue.  Here  and  there  is  just  the  trace  of  a  fleecy 
cloud,  to  set  out  in  beautiful  relief  the  blue  heavens 
beyond.  Around  the  horizon  hangs  an  almost  autumnal 
tinge.  On  our  starboard  side,  the  sea  smiles  'neath  a 
myriad  of  silvery  ripples.  On  our  port,  it  stretches  away 
in  swells  of  deeper,  darker  blue.  Sea  gulls  sail  grace- 
fully through  the  air  or  ride  upon  the  bosom  of  the  deep. 
Throngs  of  happy  passengers  promenade  the  deck, 
recline  in  steamer  chairs,  and  loiter  along  the  rail.  I  am 
in  the  prow.  Both  fore  and  aft,  I  see  the  most  unmis- 
takable manifestations  'of  God's  unsurpassing  love  to 
man.  I  look  out  forward  and  can  scarcely  realize  that 
just  beyond  the  horizon  lies  the  Emerald  Isle,  once  the 


home  of  wealth  and  happiness,  now  oppressed  by  mal- 
administration of  her  public  affairs.  This  is  the  picture  I 
see.  It  can  never  be  forgotten.  It  is  such  as  comes 
but  once  to  mortal  experience  upon  the  deep.  It  is  the 
most  powerful  argument  that  ever  appealed  to  my  heart 
for  a  recognition  of  God's  great  love  and  kindness  to 
His  children. 

We  knew  now  that  we  should  see  land  during  the 
day.  Can'the  inexperienced  realize  what  that  means  to 
those  who  have  not  seen  land  for  nine  successive  days? 
What  it  means  in  the  fullest  sense  of  the  word  is  learned 
only  by  actual  experience.  To  be  out  of  sight  of  land 
for  nine  successive  days,  no  matter  how  pleasant  the 
weather  has  been,  what  pleasant  associates,  or  how  luxu- 
rious the  happy  indolence  of  a  sea  voyage  may  be,  means 
that  the  sight  of  land  is  longed  for  again  with  an  impa- 
tience that  knows  no  bounds.  No  one  escaped  the  feeling, 
even  the  seamen  cast  frequent  glances  toward  the  east. 
After  noon,  all  eyes  were  eagerly  scanning  the  eastern 
horizon,  many  seeing  land  for  an  hour  before  they  knew 
what  it  was.  The  first  appearance  of  land  from  the  sea 
is  that  of  a  cloud  lying  low  upon  the  horizon,  and  the 
inexperienced  will  not  believe  it  is  land  when  it  is  pointed 
out  to  them. 

About  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  I  went  forward, 
and  there,  crowded  into  the  prow,  like  sardines  in  a  box, 
I  saw  a  dozen  or  more  people,  eagerly  and  intently  scan- 
ning the  horizon.  What  longing  and  eagerness  were 
depicted  upon  their  faces.  Their  countenances  would 
have  made  a  study  for  an  artist.  They  were  Irish — a 
number  of  old  men  and  women,  and  several  younger 
ones.      The  older  people  had  probably  left  their  island 


—  8  — 

home  years  before  and  had  grown  gray  in  a  distant  land. 
They  were  now  coming  back  to  the  land  of  their  childhood 
and  youth.  Not  only  were  they  looking  for  land,  but  for  their 
own  native  land,  after  years  of  absence.  What  feelings, 
what  emotions  must  have  been  theirs  when  Ireland  came 
into  sight  above  the  horizon.  What  a  flood  of  early 
recollections  and  fond  memories  must  have  flashed  upon 
them.  I  can,  in  some  manner,  appreciate  their  feelings, 
when  I  recall  with  what  emotions  I  first  looked  upon 
Ireland,  as  an  entire  stranger  moved  only  by  compassion 
for  her  misery  and  indignation  toward  her  unjust  rulers. 

Toward  evening  we  passed  Tory  Island,  and  as  we 
did  so  the  news  was  flashed  under  the  water  that  the 
Ethiopia  had  arrived. 

But  during  the  voyage  we  had  gone  northward  as 
well  as  eastward  until,  as  we  passed  around  the  north  of 
Ireland,  we  saw  the  North  Star  high  in  the  heavens,  and 
the  sun  go  down  at  fifteen  minutes  before  nine  o'clock. 
Following  the  sunset  was  a  long  bright  twilight.  The 
21st  day  of  June  being  the  longest  day  of  summer,  in 
that  latitude  there  was  only  thirty  minutes  darkness 
between  the  close  of  the  evening  and  the  breaking  of  the 
morning  twilight.  The  day  was  also  that  on  which  the 
Queen's  jubilee  was  celebrated,  and  as  we  passed  along 
the  coast  we  saw  many  bonfires  and  illuminations.  Along 
that  coast  of  Ireland  there  are  few  "Home  Rulers."  It 
is  the  county  of  Ulster,  and  the  people  are  very  loyal  to 
the  Queen's  government.  The  population  is  largely 
Protestant,  and  in  that  county  the  question  takes  on  more 
of  a  religious  than  a  political  aspect.  As  we  approached 
Moville,  the  large  bonfires  in  honor  of  the  50th  anniver- 
sary of  the  Queen's  accession  to  the  throne,  were  very 


bt^UL-BC*  —      — =7 


—  9  — 

numerous.  Here  a  tug  or  "lighter"  came  out  to  meet 
us,  the  harbor  being  too  shallow  to  admit  our  boat.  Many 
of  the  passengers  left  us  here,  the  baggage  was  lowered, 
good-byes  were  said,  and  amid  cheers  for  the  American 
flag  at  our  mast  head,  the  lighter  put  off  and  we  steamed 
away  for  Glasgow.  In  the  morning  we  found  our  boat 
in  the  Clyde  river  not  far  from  the  city.  We  steamed  up 
the  river  between  banks  teeming  with  busy  life  and 
natural  beauty,  with  both  the  British  and  American  flags 
flung  to  the  breeze — the  American  flag  being  raised 
through  courtesy  to  the  passengers.  Seldom  on  the 
water  among  the  shipping,  or  elsewhere  on  the  seas,  do 
we  find  our  flag  at  the  mast  head  except  as  a  matter  of 
courtesy.  We  have  no  navy  worthy  the  name,  to  display 
it,  and  kw  steam-ship  lines  to  carry  it.  As  we  went  up  the 
Clyde,  the  busy  hum  of  industry,  the  building  of  large 
ships,  the  ring  of  hammers,  greeted  us  at  every  turn.  It 
is  almost  one  continual  ship  yard  from  its  mouth  to 
Glasgow,  interspersed  with  elegant  country  seats  and  well 
kept  estates.  At  last  we  reached  the  company's  docks, 
stepped  off,  and  once  more  stood  upon  land  in  "  bonnie 
Scotland.' '  Having  had  our  trunks  and  luggage  examined 
at  the  dock,  by  the  custom-house  officer,  we  were  permitted 
to  pass  out  and  at  once  drove  to  the  George  Hotel,  were 
assigned  to  our  rooms,  looked  upon  the  customs  and 
manners  of  a  strange  people,  and  began  to  realize  that 
the  broad  ocean  rolled  between  us  and  the  best  and  fair- 
est and  most  progressive  land  on  the  face  of  the  earth. 


•o^o. 


©rj&pter  2. 


Glasgow — The  Cathedral,  The  Necropolis,  The 

University. 

Glasgow  is  a  city  of  over  500,000  population,  and  is 
the  third  in  size  in  the  United  Kingdom.  Though  it  is  a 
great  commercial  center  and  an  extensive  manufacturing 
city,  it  lacks  that  hurry  and  energy  and  feverish  excite- 
ment characteristic  ot  all  large  American  cities.  In  fact, 
this  is  true  of  all  or  at  least  most  of  European  cities. 

On  the  streets  beggars  are  numerous,  idlers  abound 
on  every  corner,  and  bare-footed  and  bare-headed  women 
of  all  ages  may  be  seen  carrying  heavy  burdens  or  loiter- 
ing along,  after  having  completed  some  heavy  task .  The 
buildings  are  chiefly  stone  or  brick,  stuccoed  to  re- 
semble stone.  I  did  not  see  a  frame  building  in  the  city. 
A  peculiarity  that  immediately  attracts  the  attention  of 
the  American  is  the  chimney  pot.  Gaining  some  high 
point  where  any  considerable  portion  of  the  city  is  below 
the  observer,  such  as  the  Necropolis  or  University,  he 
sees  a  perfect  forest  of  chimneys  with  from  one  to  a  half 
dozen  of  these  earthen  pots  at  their  tops.  There  is  a 
great  sameness  in  the  style  of  the  houses,  being  all  square 
or  rectangular,  with  gables  toward  the  streets.  The 
streets  are  generally  narrow  and  winding,  though  many 
are  wide  and  beautiful,  and  all  are  paved  with  hard  stone, 
and  much  better  in  width  and  straightness  than  in  the 
continental  cities. 


—  II  — 

Order  on  the  streets  at  night  is  not  good.  You  may 
yell  and  shout  at  the  top  of  your  voice,  and  not  be  mo- 
lested. Many  women  of  questionable  character  prome- 
nade the  most  public  thoroughfares  and  are  secure  from 
molestation  by  police. 

The  street  railways  are  called  "tramways,"  and  the 
cars,  as  well  as  the  omnibuses,  have  seats  on  the  top 
which  are  reached  by  a  winding  iron  stairway  from  the 
platform  below.  The  fare  on  these  cars  is  regulated  by 
the  distance,  instead  of  by  the  trip  as  on  our  horse  cars, 
and  the  seats  on  top  are  cheaper  than  those  inside  of  the 
car.  It  is  not  uncommon  to  see  the  top  heavily  loaded 
with  passengers  while  the  inside  is  entirely  empty.  On 
the  top  of  these  cars  is  a  splendid  place  to  ride  for  obser- 
vation. The  places  of  business  along  the  streets  are 
called  "shops,"  and  are  usually  closed  at  five  oclock  in 
the  evening  and  reopened  beween  eight  and  nine  o'clock 
the  next  morning.  The  George  Hotel  at  which  we 
stopped,  is  north  of  the  St.  George's  Square.  The 
square  is  chiefly  remarkable  for  the  great  number  of 
statues  and  monuments  of  celebrated  men.  The  most 
noticeable  of  these  is  the  statue  of  Sir  Walter  Scott.  The 
first  object  of  interest  is  the  Glasgow  Cathedral,  situated 
at  the  northeast  part  of  the  city  near  the  Necropolis 
from  which  it  is  separated  by  the  Molendinar  Burn,  a 
small  stream  across  which  is  a  long  stone  bridge,  called 
the  Bridge  of  Sighs.  The  cathedral  is  said  to  have  been 
founded  about  60 1,  A.  D.,  by  St.  Mungo,  and  was  re- 
stored by  King  David  1.,  in  the  12th  century.  The 
architecture  is  one  of  the  finest  examples  of  early  English 
or  undecorated  Gothic  and  is  peculiarly  interesting  as 
being  one  of  the  only  two  ecclesiastical  edifices  that  es- 


—    12   

caped  the  fury  of  the  Reformation,  and  has  come  down 
to  the  present  in  its  original  state.  Many  of  the  historic 
events  of  Scotland  are  associated  with  the  church,  and 
here  Cromwell,  when  in  Glasgow,  attended  service  and 
heard  the  fiery  Presbyterian  divine  preach  boldly  against 
him  and  his  followers. 

The  fine  windows,  especially  those  behind  the  choir 
and  in  the  nave,  attract  attention.  That  in  the  east 
end  was  presented  by  Her  Majesty,  Queen  Victoria,  at  a 
cost  of  over  $io,ooo.  To  the  architect,  the  church  is  a  de- 
lightful study.  The  gorgoils,  or  water  spouts,  consisting 
of  a  "  monstrous  mouth,  on  the  lower  jaw  of  which  a  gro- 
tesque face  is  sculptured  in  bas-relief"  claim  the  notice  of 
all  visitors.  So  proud  of  this  church  have  the  citizens  of 
Glasgow  ever  been,  that  on  different  occasions  they  have 
been  in  arms  to  protect  it  from  demolition  by  the  magis- 
trates during  the  Reformation,  as  also  on  another  occasion 
when  the  magistrates  had  determined  to  tear  it  down  and 
with  the  material  build  several  small  churches  for  the  con- 
venience of  the  people.  In  "  Rob  Roy"  will  be  found 
Scott's  description  of  one  of  these  events.  The  chapter 
house,  the  choir  and  the  crypt  all  deserve  attention.  "  It 
is  in  the  interior  however,  that  the  true  dignity  and  elegance 
of  the  original  design  is  conspicuously  manifested.  The 
vast  length  of  the  vista,  formed  by  the  nave  and  the  choir, 
with  the  lofty  vault  overhead;  the  lines  of  beautifully  clus- 
tered columns  and  arches  on  each  hand;  and  the  large 
and  beautiful  window  that  casts  its  light  down  from  behind 
the  choir;  all  contribute  to  produce  upon  the  spectator 
an  overpowering  impression  of  solemnity  and  magnifi- 
cence." Its  length  is  319  feet,  and  it  contains  147  clus- 
tered columns,  and  159  windows  of  great  beauty.    Around 


—  13  — 

the  cathedral  is  a  church  yard;  large  flat  stones  laid  hor- 
izontally over  the  grave,  mark  the  last  resting  place  of 
the  departed.  Around  many  of  the  graves  are  iron 
fences  or  grates  which  entirely  enclose  the  graves,  and  are 
securely  locked.  These  are  pointed  out  as  the  remains 
of  a  time  when  body  stealing  was  so  common  that  such  a 
precaution  was  necessary  to  prevent  the  theft  of  the  in- 
terred. Passing  along  a  path  on  the  south  side  of  the 
cathedral,  and  crossing  the  Bridge  of  Sighs  the  visitor 
finds  himself  within  the  Necropolis.  It  is  just  to  the  east 
of  the  church  and  on  a  high  hill  overlooking  the  city. 
From  the  entrance  ornamental  paths  lead  in  different 
directions;  the  sides  of  the  hill  covered  with  monu- 
ments of  almost  every  design,  clusters  of  shrubs,  patches 
of  green  grass  and  beds  of  flowers  lining  the  paths,  pre- 
sent an  appearance  grotesque  and  oriental  in  the  extreme. 
On  the  top  of  the  hill  is  a  monument  to  John  Knox,  and 
from  this  point  the  visitor  sees  the  city  below  him,  and 
stretching  away  to  the  south  and  west  like  a  vast  iorest 
of  chimneys.  Descending  and  retracing  my  steps,  I  find 
myself  again  mounted  on  the  top  of  a  street  car,  and 
alight  near  Kelvin  grove  park,  across  which  I  walk,  cross 
a  little  stream  of  water,  ascend  another  hill,  walk  along  a 
beautiful  drive  lined  with  shrubbery,  pass  through  a  huge 
iron  gateway,  and  stand  upon  the  beautiful  and  well  kept 
grounds  of  the  University.  The  buildings  are  large  and 
massive;  the  architecture  early  English,  with  open 
courts,  squares  and  quadrangles.  It  was  founded  437 
years  ago,  by  the  Scottish  Government.  The  present 
buildings  are  new  and  entirely  of  stone.  There  are  fifty- 
nine  professors  and  assistants,  2,300  students,  and  de- 
partments of  arts,  science,  theology,  medicine  and  Scot- 


—  i4  — 

tish  law.  The  salaries  of  professors  are  provided  by  en- 
dowment, and  are  increased  by  fees.  Some  professors 
receive  as  high  as  $10,000  per  year.  The  present  buildings 
cost  nearly  four  millions  of  dollars.  The  library  contains 
370,000  volumes. 


H 

X 

a 

a 

►> 

H 

X 

O 

w 
> 

o 

H 

a 
a 

n 

o 
►a 

o 


ro 
O 
O 


©q&pter  3- 

Customs,  Hotels,   Railroads. 

In  many  ways  we  are  constantly  reminded  that  we 
are  strangers .     Many  of  the  expressions  are  new,  and  are 
constantly  getting  us  into  trouble.     I  want  to  find  a  book 
store,  and  am  sent  to  the  railway  station.  On  arriving  there, 
I  ask  a  policeman  where  the  book  store  is,  and  he  asks 
me  in  return  if  I  want  to  store  away  some  books.     But 
when  he  understands  finally,  that  I  want  to  buy  a  book, 
"Oh,"  he  says,  "a  book  stall,"  and  directs  me  to  what 
any  civilized  person  calls  a  book  store.     I   suppose,    in 
Glasgow,  not  all  book  stores  are  at  the  railway  stations, 
but  this  one  was.     We  also  hear  and  note  the  expression 
"beg  pardon,"  which  with  its  peculiar  inflection  is  used 
exactly  as  we  use  the  interrogative  ' '  what. ' '     We  are  at 
once  known  as  Americans.     I  do  not  remember  that  any- 
where during  the  trip,  we  were   mistaken  for   English. 
So  distinct  are   the  manners,  speech   and   dress   of  the 
American,  that  he  is  invariably  known.     In  this  respect 
he  may  be  said  to  be  "  sui  generis."     One  day  in  a  shop 
we  noticed  that  the  shop  girl  was  greatly  amused  at  some 
expression  used  by  us,  and  she  began  at   once  to  talk 
about  America.     When  asked  how  she  knew  us  to  be 
Americans,    she    replied,,  that  she    could    recognize    an 
American  at  once.     "Look  there,"  she  said,  "across  the 


—  i6  — 

way  are  three  Yankee  girls."  We  looked  and  there  were 
three  of  the  ladies  of  our  own  party. 

Upon  one  occasion,  while  on  my  way  to  visit  the  Kew 
Gardens,  London,  the  driver  stopped  to  change  horses, 
I  dismounted  from  the  top  of  the  conveyance  and  entered 
a  bar  and  asked  the  bar-maid  for  a  lemonade.  She  set 
out  a  bottle  of  something  that  resembled  "pop"  with  a 
lemon  flavor.  I  told  her  that  what  I  wanted  was  the 
juice  of  a  lemon,  some  sugar  and  water  well  shaken  up. 
"O,"  she  said,  "you  want  a  lemon  squash".  She 
made  me  a  lemonade  and  was  about  to  put  some  wine 
into  it,  when  I  told  her  I  wanted  it  plain.  She  looked 
at  me,  as  if  suprised,  and  said:  "Is  that  the  kind  of 
drinks  you  have  in  America?"  Now  let  it  be  remembered 
that  not  one  word  had  passed  between  us  but  the  conver- 
sation detailed  above,  and  yet  she  knew  as  well  that  I 
was  an  American  as  if  I  had  announced  the  fact  upon 
entering  the  door. 

In  many  respects  the  traveler  finds  the  manners,  cus- 
toms and  institutions  of  Europe  disappointing.  In  means 
of  transportation  and  hotels,  this  is  especially  true.  The 
latter  are  seldom  provided  with  elevators,  which  an 
American  deems  an  essential  feature  of  any  good  hotel. 
But  there,  you  must  climb  a  flight  of  stairs  to  the  fourth 
or  fifth  floor  to  gain  your  room.  And  often  after  coming 
back  from  a  long  day's  tramp,  over  the  hard  pavements 
of  streets,  through  galleries  and  museums,  very  hungry 
and  very  tired,  we  fervently  wish  that  we  had  an  Amer- 
can  elevator  to  carry  us  up  the  weary  flight  of  steps  lead- 
ing to  our  room.  In  your  room,  you  invariably  get  a 
tallow  candle  for  a  light.  There  is  no  exception  to  this 
rule,  so  far  as  my  own  experience  can  testify.     Of  course 


—   17  — 

in  such  hotels  as  the  Grand  or  the  Langham,  in  London, 
one  finds  all  the  modern  conveniences,  but  I  speak  of 
the  average  hotels;  and  it  is  always  charged  as  an  extra 
in  the  bill .  On  the  continent,  the  same  is  true  as  to  soap. 
It  is  not  furnished  except  when  ordered,  as  the  guest  is 
expected  to  carry  a  cake  of  soap  of  his  own.  And  when 
ordered,  it  becomes  like  everything  else,  an  extra  item  in 
the  bill. 

The  doors  are  provided  with  huge  locks  and  great 
iron  keys,  which  one  might  imagine  had  come  down  from 
some  Mediaeval  prison.  A  heavy  iron  chain,  a  little 
lighter,  sometimes,  than  an  ordinary  log  chain,  is  fre- 
quently seen,  which  is  used  to  draw  across  the  door  at 
night  to  make  it  more  secure.  That  such  cumbrous  affairs 
appear  odd  to  the  American,  who  is  familiar  only  with  the 
small  locks  and  keys  of  excellent  workmanship  to  be 
found  at  home,  may  be  readily  imagined.  The  maids 
invariably  dress  in  black  and  wear  a  white  cap,  while  the 
waiters,  invariably  men,  dress  in  broadcloth  and  wear  dress 
coats,  and  look  as  if  about  to  go  out  to  some  fashionable 
entertainment,  and  all  seem  to  expect  a  munificent  fee  for 
the  slightest  possible  service.  If  there  is  anything  known 
to  civilization  more  detestable  than  the  "  tipping  system  " 
of  Europe,  the  writer  is  not  aware  of  it.  Being  out  until 
eleven  or  twelve  o'clock  at  night,  when  you  return  you 
find  the  entrance  closed  by  heavy  wooden  doors,  which 
seem  to  be  copied  Irom  the  port-cullis  of  their  an- 
cient castles.  To  get  in  you  must  ring  a  bell,  if  you  can 
find  it  without  hunting  up  a  policeman  to  show  you 
where  it  is.  This  brings  down  a  sleepy  attendant  who 
lazily  asks  you  the  number  of  your  room  before  he  will 
admit  you.     If  you  have  forgotten  it  or  lailed  to  ascertain 


—   i8  — 

it  previously,  you  may  stay  out  all  night,  unless  you  are 
disposed  to  bribe  the  servant  with  a  sixpence  or  two.  This 
of  course  you  do,  and  as  you  ascend  to  your  room,  you  com- 
pare the  system  with  that  of  America,  with  the  result, 
that  if  expressed  in  language,  would  generally  be  more 
emphatic  than  elegant.  When  you  come  down  in  the 
morning,  unless  you  have  ordered  something  extra,  a 
plain  breakfast  is  set  before  you.  A  plain  breakfast  con- 
sists of  coffee,  bread  and  honey;  then  follows  at  about  one 
o'clock,  "lunch,"  and  "dinner"  in  the  evening.  But 
you  can  take  your  meals  il  a  la  carte,'"  in  which  case  you 
order  what  you  desire.  But  of  one  thing  you  may  be 
certain  always,  the  waiter  will  take  his  own  time  in  serving 
you,  regardless  of  your  necessity  for  haste.  On  the 
continent  you  can  seldom  find  the  proprietor  of  a  hotel. 
A  woman,  almost  without  exception,  has  charge  of  the  es- 
tablishment, and  with  her  you  make  your  bargain  and  settle 
your  bill.  Then  there  is  another  important  person,  the 
"portier.'"  His  business  is  to  give  you  information  about 
everything  you  want  to  know.  He  is  gorgeously  uni- 
formed, and  his  clothes  are  decorated  with  the  brightest  of 
shiny  brass  buttons.  His  salary  is  paid  by  the  guests  in 
the  way  of  fees. 

The  railways  are  even  more  unsatisfactory  than  the 
hotels.  They  are  not  built  into  the  city  on  the  surface, 
but  are  either  under  ground  or  on  bridges.  A  two-story 
station  at  which  one  can  take  a  train  from  either  floor  is  a 
curiosity  to  the  American.  But  such  a  depot  is  to  be 
found  in  Glasgow,  and  from  which  our  party  of  "  tramps '' 
left  the  city.  The  average  road  is  laid  on  a  bed  ol  unusual 
solidity  and  excellence.  The  ballast  consists  of  stone  in 
most  part.     Usually  there  is  a  double  track.     The  rail  is 


—  IQ  — 

not  spiked  to  the  tie  as  on  our  roads,   but  is  held  in  an 
iron  bracket  by  means  of  a   wedge   and  the  bracket  is 
bolted  to  the  tie.     In  the  matter  of  construction,  the  road 
bed  is  superior   to   our  system.     The  highway  seldom 
crosses  a  railroad  track  on  the  same  level.      The  road 
either  crosses  over  a  stone  bridge,  or  under  through  a 
tunnel  lined  with  stone.     I   only    noticed    one   place  in 
Scotland,   where,  at  the  crossing,  the  highway  and  rail- 
road were  on  the  same  level,  and  at  that  place  the  cross- 
ing was  guarded  with  gates.     The  crossing  of  the  differ- 
ent railways  is  on  the  same  plan.     Although  so  well  con- 
structed, the  service  on  these  roads  is  not  good.     The 
trains   move   quite   slowly.     The  locomotives   are   very 
small  compared  with  ours,  and  have  no  "cow  catcher" 
and  but  very  few  have  any  cab  for  the  engineer  and  fire- 
man, who  usually  stand  on  a  platform  in  the  open  air, 
in  all  sorts  of  weather.     The  freight  car  is  quite  small, 
resting  on  only  four  wheels,    which  is  also  true  of  most 
passenger  cars.     The  passenger  car  is  divided  by  parti- 
tions across  the  car  from  side  to  side,  with  a  seat  along 
the  side  of  the  partition.    In  this  way  a  car  is  divided  into 
six  or  eight  compartments,   with  two  seats  facing  each 
other  in  each  compartment.     Thus,  if  a  compartment  is 
full,  one-half  of  the   passengers    must   ride  backwards. 
There  is  no  escape  from  it.     The  door  is  at  the  side  of 
the  car,  being  one  for  each  compartment ;  thus  there  are 
from  six  to  eight  doors  on  each  side  of  the  car.     It  is 
impossible  to  go  from  one  compartment  to  another  when 
the  train  is  in  motion.     There  is  no  bell  rope  with  which 
to  signal  to  the  engineer.     The  depots  are  usually  large 
and  built  of  stone  or  brick.  The  track  is  covered  at  the  sta- 
tion, and  frequently  there  is  a  building  on  each  side,  with 


20 


the  track  between,  and  a  roof  spanning  the  space.   The  pas- 
senger is  not  allowed  to  cross  the  track,  but  must  go  over 
on  a  bridge  or  under  through  a  tunnel  from  one  side  to  the 
other.     On  the  continent  many  of  the  depots  are  within 
the  protection   of  the   guns   of  some   large  fortification. 
There  is  no  conductor  in  our  sense  of  the  term,  but  there 
are  several   "guards."     Usually  the  passenger  can  not 
gain  admittance  to  the  inside,   unless  he  has  purchased 
his  ticket ;  this  he  shows  to  a  guard  who  permits  him  to 
pass  in.      When  the  train  has  arrived,  and   the   guards 
have  passed  along   and  opened   all   the  doors,  and  the 
passengers  have  alighted,  then  he  is  permitted  to  enter. 
When  the  train  is  about  to  start  the  guards  close  and 
fasten  the  doors,  and  he  finds  himself  shut  into  a  little 
room  about  five  by  ten  feet  in  size.     There  is  no  water,  no 
stove,  no  closet  —in  fact,  no  conveniences  whatever.     In 
the  winter  the  passenger   must   carry  wraps   enough  to 
keep  him  warm,  though  sometimes  a  can  of  hot  water  is 
put  into  the  car  to  keep  the  feet  warm.     When  he  alights 
he  must  give  up  his  ticket  to  a  guard  before  he  can  pass 
out  of  the  depot,  though  this  custom  is  more  general  on 
the  continent  than   in  Scotland.     On  some  roads  there 
are   first,  second  and  third  class  compartments,  and  on 
others  only  first  and   third.     A  few  sleeping  cars  after  the 
American  plan  are  used.     But  their  usual  sleeping  car, 
though  only  made  to  accommodate  four  persons,  is  more 
convenient  than  ours.     The  car  is  of  the  ordinary  size 
with  a  hall  through  the  middle  from  side  to  side.     By 
this  means  two  convenient  rooms  are  made,  one  in  each 
end  of  the  car.     These  are  entered  from  a  hall,  and  the 
hall  is  entered  from  the  side  of  the  car.     A  berth  is  con- 
structed on  each  side  of  these  two  rooms,  making  four 


—    21    

berths  in  all.  The  passenger  thus  has  ample  room  to 
dress  and  arrange  his  toilet.  The  guards  are  even  more 
gruff  and  uncivil  than  American  conductors,  which  all 
will  admit  is  quite  unnecessary.  And  on  some  of  the 
continental  roads  they  are  almost  brutal  in  their  incivility. 
At  some  German  stations  it  is  amusing  to  see  the  osten- 
tation of  the  officers.  The  train  being  about  to  start,  the 
head  guard  blows  a  shrill  little  whistle,  which  resembles 
our  police  whistle,  the  engineer  responds  with  a  blast 
from  the  locomotive  whistle  and  rings  the  bell,  then  the 
station  master  rings  a  bell  on  the  side  of  the  depot,  then 
the  guard  blows  his  police  whistle  again,  and  the  train 
begins  to  move  away.  Such  is  the  brief  and  necessarily 
imperfect  description  of  the  railways  of  Europe. 


©Ijapter  4. 

Loch  Lomond,  Loch  Katrine,  The  Trossachs. 

But  it  soon  became  evident  that  if  we  were  to  do 
any  "tramping"  we  must  quit  Glasgow.  Accordingly, 
one  bright  June  morning  we  found  ourselves  entering  a 
compartment  of  a  car  on  the  North  British  Railway,  and 
shortly  afterward  the  train  was  rumbling  along  through 
a  dark  tunnel  until  the  limits  of  the  city  were  reached, 
and  then  through  a  beautiful  and  well  kept  country,  with 
here  and  there  a  busy  town,  and  an  elegant  country  home 
with  its  parks  and  grounds.  The  railway  is  extremely 
crooked  ;  we  rushed  past  mills,  and  factories  and  ship- 
yards ;  flew  along  in  sight  of  the  Clyde,  upon  whose  water 
we  saw  many  a  craft,  and  a  great  ocean  ship  steaming 
toward  Glasgow.  Soon  Dumbarton  Castle,  built  upon  a 
huge  rock,  which  measures  one  mile  around,  and  560 
feet  in  height,  appears  in  view,  and  the  road  turns  sud- 
denly to  the  right,  following  the  Leven  to  Loch  Lomond. 
The  simple  minded  peasants  will  point  out  the  huge  rock 
and  tell  you  in  all  sincerity,  that  Satan  threw  it  at  St. 
Patrick,  and  that  it  fell  into  the  river  where  it  now  is. 
As  we  leave  the  Clyde  the  ground  becomes  more  broken 
and  hilly ;  the  gentle  ascents  are  covered  with  parks  of  trees 
and  shrubs,  and  ruins  of  old  stone  houses,  and  stone 
fences  covered  with  ivy.  The  sun  shines  bright  and 
clear  over  all ;  the  birds  chirp  and  flit  from  shrub  to  tree ; 


—  23  — 

a  gentle  wind  dallies  with  the  leaves  of  lovely  green, 
the  whole,  for  miles,  presenting  a  rare  scene  of  continued 
loveliness.  Two  old  castles,  not  far  apart,  suddenly 
come  into  view  with  their  stone  towers,  and  turrets,  and 
battlements,  and  ivy-grown  sides.  Scarcely  have  we 
realized  the  beauty  of  this  scene,  when  the  train  stops 
along  side  the  little  steamer  on  Loch  Lomond  at  Balloch. 
We  are  now  at  the  entrance  to  the  loveliness  and  roman- 
tic beauties  of  "bonny  Scotland."  In  this  part  of 
Scotland,  the  mountain  lakes  whose  surfaces  shine  "like 
burnished  sheets  of  living  gold,"  and  the  heather  cov- 
ered hills,  and  crystal  streams  and  showery  cascades, 
present  a  strange  mixture  of  wildness  and  loveliness,  and 
sweetness  to  be  found  nowhere  else. 

We  pass  from  the  cars  to  the  boat,  and  are  soon 
moving  oft  over  the  smooth  water  of  the  Lake.  Loch 
Lomond  is  a  long  and  comparatively  narrow  lake,  being 
about  twenty-six  miles  in  length  and  about  five  miles  in 
width  at  the  widest  place.  Its  greatest  width  is  at  the 
south  end,  and  it  quickly  narrows  ;  islands  are  scattered 
about  with  old  ruins  upon  them ;  beautiful  residences  line  its 
shores;  castles  and  country  "halls"  further  back;  but  soon 
the  mountains  rise  abruptly  from  the  water's  edge  to  the 
height  of  a  thousand  to  three  thousand  feet.  The  water 
is  clear,  the  banks  green  with  foliage,  the  hills  brown 
with  the  unblossomed  heather,  and  many  a  glen  opens 
into  the  mountains. 

As  the  boat  glides  along,  swinging  around  islands, 
shooting  through  narrow  passages  between  projecting 
points  of  land,  into  wider  spaces  of  sparkling  water,  a 
new  view,  a  more  beautiful  scene  constantly  appearing, 
the  lake   presents   a   perpetual   series   of  surprises    and 


—  24  — 

delights.     "It  blends   together  in   one  scene  a  greater 
variety  of  the  elements  which  we  admire  in  lake  scenery, 
than  any  other  Scottish  loch.  "     We  pass  the  village  of 
Russ  and  soon,  Ben   Lomond,  the  highest  peak  in  Scot- 
land.    Ben  Arthur,  but  little  lower,  also  guards  the  lake. 
Glen  Douglas  is  passed  on  the  left;  Rob  Roy's  prison  on 
the  right,  and  now  we  are  approaching  Inversnaid  where 
we  land.     Opposite  this  place,  is  the  island  on  which  is 
the  ruined  castle,  once  the  home  of  the  MacFarlanes.  As 
we  alight,  we  see  a  picturesque  waterfall  on  our  right, 
that  comes  tumbling  down  from  the  mountain,  breaking 
and  dashing  into  spray  as  if  in  a  perfect  abandonment  of 
joy.     A  greater  interest  attaches  to  it  from  the  fact  that 
here  Wordsworth  met  his  Highland  girl.     And  though 
we  met  no  Highland  lass,  we  can  say  with  the  poet: 
"Now  thanks  to  Heaven,  that  of  its  grace 
Hath  led  me  to  this  lovely  place. 
Joy  have  I  had,  and  going  hence, 
I  bear  away  my  recompense." 
At  this  place,  according  to  the  itinerary,  we  were  to 
begin  our  "  tramping.  "     The  path,   or  rather  highway, 
leads  from  Inversnaid  to  Stronachlacher  on  Loch  Katrine 
and  climbs  over  the  mountains  between  the  two  places. 
It  was  a  beautiful  day  for  a  walk,  the  sky  clear,  the  sun 
bright,    the   grass   and   foliage   green.       But  like  Mark 
Twain,   at  the   last  moment,    "for   private   reasons   we 
changed  our  minds  and   took  carriages."     While  these 
were  preparing,  we  scrambled  up  the  hill  to  the  top  of  the 
cascade,  and  then  up  steps,  over  rocks,  along  paths  lined 
with   underbrush  and  carpeted  by  nature   with   designs 
and  hues  and  patterns  never  rivaled  by  art;  we  toiled  on, 
gathering  rare  botanical  specimens  and   examining   the 


The  P'alls  at   Inversnaid. 


—  25  — 

curious  strata  of  the  rocks,  until  we  emerged  upon  the 
road  several  hundred  feet  above  the  starting  point,  but 
almost  directly  over  it.  A  pretty  picture  it  was,  as  we 
sat  there  on  rocks  and  patches  of  grass,  and  stumps 
of  trees,  each  in  a  place  of  his  own  choice,  the  ladies  in 
their  picturesque  "tramping  suits,"  the  white  and  wind- 
ing road  on  one  side,  and  the  rugged  hill  at  the  other, 
dropping  away  in  ridges  and  terraces  to  the  beautiful 
lake  below. 

"  And  those  gray  rocks;  that  household  lawn. 

Those  trees,  a  vail  just  half  withdrawn, 

This  fall  of  water  that  doth  make 

s 

A  murmur  near  the  silent  lake." 
Here  we  awaited  the  arrival  of  the  carriages  which  were  to 
take  us  to  Lake  Katrine.  Nor  did  we  wait  long.  Soon 
they  came,  and  we  mounted  upon  the  high  seats,  and  a 
more  joyous  or  happier  party  never  rode  across  those 
beautiful  hills.  The  road  is  McAdamized,  about  twenty 
feet  wide,  hard  and  smooth  as  a  floor,  and  winds  around 
like  a  great  serpent  through  and  over  the  highlands. 

Here,  on  the  left  is  a  high  peak,  rugged  and  almost 
bare  of  vegetation;  there,  on  the  right  is  a  rolling  valley 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  wide,  flanked  with  huge  peaks  and 
rocky  sides.  A  few  sheep  wander  over  the  valley,  and 
climb  the  hills  in  search  of  food.  On  the  right  we  pass 
the  ruins  of  the  stone  house,  which  was  the  home  of  Rob 
Roy  and  Helen  Macgregor.  A  little  lake  on  the  same  side 
reflects  back  the  sun's  rays  like  a  mirror.  A  little  stream 
winds  along  and  the  road  follows  it;  passes  a  few  stone 
houses  and  stables  and  sheep  pens,   winds  over  rolling 


—   26   — 

ground,  reaches  the  summit  of  the  "divide,"  begins  a  rapid 
descent,  passes  piles  of  peet,  dug  and  drying  in  the  sun, 
sweeps  around  the  base  of  a  huge  peak  and  the  waters  of 
Lake  Katrine  burst  upon  or  sight,  like  a  diamond  set  in 
emeralds. 

Almost  before  we  realize   that   the   beauties  of  the 
drive  are  behind  us,  we  are  descending  from  our  seats  in 
front   of  the   Stronachlacher   Hotel,    with   the  beautiful 
waters  of  Lake  Katrine  spread  before  us.    From  this  lake 
Glasgow  gets  her  water  supply.    Scott  has  made   it   fa- 
ous  in  the  "Lady  of  the  Lake,"  and  its  beauties  deserve 
all  that  has  been  said  and  sung  of  it.     Riding  its  entire 
length,  the  beautiful  scenery  seems  floating  by  one.     At 
the  eastern  end   is    "Ellen's  Isle,"  which  any  reader  of 
Scott  could  at  once  point  out  from  his  description.   In  shape, 
in  size,  in  the  closely  growing  and  low  hanging  foliage  that 
fringes  its  edges  and  drops  into  the  water,  in  every  way 
the  poet  has    caught   the   beauty     and    richness    of  its 
position    and  surroundings.     As    I  passed    it,    I    almost 
imagined  I  could  see  through  the  wall  of  verdure  to  the 
chieftain's  ideal  abode,  and  hear   the  clinking  sound  of 
broadswords.     But   while   lost   in   contemplation   of  the 
beauty  of  the  isle  and  the  memories  it  awakens,  the  boat 
glides  on  and  stops  at  the  landing  at  the  entrance  to  the 
"  Trossachs. ' '   Here  again  we  take  wagons  over  the  wind- 
ing mountain  road,  lined  with  forest  trees,  and  flanked  by 
huge  gray  hills,  with  here  and  there  glimpses  of  heathery 
dells,  from  any  one  of  which  we  might  imagine  that  the 
stag  started  up  from  his  ' '  heathery  couch ' '  at  the  deer 


1*1 


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—  27  — 

hound's  distant  bay,  in  Scott's  beautiful  description  of  the 
"Chase." 

The  scenery  in  the  "Trossachs,"  is  weird,  wild, 
grand.  On  our  left  is  the  mountain  on  which  the  hunts- 
man lost  his  "noble  gray,"  and  further  on,  we  pass  on 
the  right,  Loch  Achray,  across  which  the  stag  swam. 
This  is  the  scenery  so  dearly  loved  and  so  eloquently 
described  by  Sir  Walter  Scott,  and  almost  every  object 
seems  to  call  forth  some  forgotten  couplet  of  his  poems. 
It  is  little  wonder  that  he  wrote  poetry.  Born  in  Edin- 
burgh, reared  on  the  border,  where  he  early  became 
imbued  with  the  tastes  of  border  warfare  and  the  ro- 
mances ot  his  island  home;  placed  amid  the  grand  and 
rugged  beauties  of  the  Highlands,  at  a  time  when  his 
heart  was  most  susceptible  to  the  influence  of  nature;  a 
mind  as  powerful  in  exercise  as  it  was  delicate  in  concep- 
tion, he  was  born  a  poet,  and  developed  by  his  favorable 
surroundings.  Among  these  hills,  along  these  lakes, 
one  seems  to  breath  in  inspiration  with  every  breath  of 
this  entrancing  atmosphere.  We  take  our  dinner  at  the 
Trossachs  hotel,  a  large  stone  structure  with  towers  and 
battlements.  Then  we  go  on  around  Loch  Achray, 
climb  the  hills  again,  see  the  towering  heads  of  Ben 
Voirlich  and  Ben  Venue,  look  upon  the  smooth  surface 
of  Loch  Vennacher  and  in  the  distance,  almost  at  the 
effluence  of  the  latter,  is  Coihntogal  Ford,  the  scene  of 
the  fight  between  Fitz  James  and  Roderick  Dhu. 

On  we  go,  along  the  winding  road,  scaling  the  spur 
of  the  mountain  on  our  right,  through  a  beautiful  glen, 


—    28    — 

along  the  edge  of  a  high  cliff,  looking  down  upon  a  beautiful 
lake,  and  then  down  a  rapid  descent  to  the  village  of 
Aberfoyle.  Here  is  a  railway  leading  out  to  the  main 
line  to  Edinburgh.  We  are  just  in  time  for  an  outgoing 
train,  and  soon  we  are  on  our  way  to  Stirling. 


©l]&pter  5. 

Stirling,  Edinburgh,  Holy  Rood. 

The  first  object  to  be  visited  at  Stirling  is  the  castle. 
From  the  depot  we  walked  through  the  streets  of  the 
town,  turned  to  the  left  of  Grayfriar's  church  in  which 
John  Knox  preached  the  coronation  sermon  of  James 
VI,  passed  through  the  church  yard  to  the  high  rock, 
where  in  the  days  of  chivalry,  the  ladies  sat  to  witness 
the  tournaments  of  their  knights,  from  which  a  most 
delightful  view  is  obtained;  descended  and  passed  into 
the  castle  yard,  climbed  a  long  flight  of  stone  steps,  and 
found  ourselves  upon  the  esplanade,  or  drill  ground. 
We  crossed  the  moat  by  means  of  the  draw  bridge, 
passed  under  the  ancient  portcullis,  and  stood  within  the 
first  court  yard  of  the  castle.  The  walls  of  the  castle 
enclose  about  eleven  acres  of  ground,  and  the  rock  upon 
which  the  castle  stands  is  340  feet  above  the  surrounding 
plains. 

This  rock  was  used  as  a  place  of  defense  as  early  as 
80,  A.  D.;  the  castle  is  of  ancient  origin  though  most  of 
it  was  erected  by  James  III,  whose  tomb  is  at  Cambus- 
kenneth  Abbey,  about  a  half  mile  away.  The  Palace, 
the    Parliament  Buildings,  and  the  Chapel  Royal  are  the 


—  3o  — 

most  noticeable,  though  the  Douglas  Room  in  the  upper 
square,  is  the  most  interesting,  as  being  the  spot  where 
James  II  assassinated  the  Earl  of  Douglas.     In  this  room 
is  the  communion  table  and  pulpit  of  John  Knox.     Aside 
from  the  fine  view,  which  includes   some    half-dozen    or 
more  battle  fields,  the  most  celebrated   of  which  is  the 
field  of  Bannockburn,  the  chief  interest  of  the  castle  is  its 
intimate  association  with  the  history  of  the  Stuart  family. 
James   II   was   born    here,  James    III,    and   James    IV 
resided  here,  James   V   was   born   and   crowned   in   the 
castle;  Queen  Mary  was  here  crowned,  as  also  was  James 
IV.     The  student  of  Scottish  history  will  tread  its   pave- 
ments and  survey  its  walls  and  towers  and  battlements, 
see   its   scenery  and    location    and  study  its  parts   with 
interest  and  emotion.     He  will  look  at  the  Grampian  hills 
at  the  west  where  Ben  Lomond,  Ben  Ledi,  Ben  Voirlich 
and  Ben  Venue  stand  like  sentinels;  he  will  see   at   the 
north  the  Ochil  hills,  and  to  the  eastward,  as  if  watching 
all  the  rest,  Arthur's  Seat  towers  aloft.     It  has  been  pro- 
nounced the  finest  view  in  Scotland.   Reluctantly  I  turned 
away  from  Stirling  Castle  to   make  a  night   journey   to 
Edinburgh,  the  ancient  capital  of  the  Scots.    And   as  we 
moved  away  that  June  evening  there  came  to  my  mind 
Scott's  words: 

"  It  was  a  night  of  lovely  June, 
High  rode  in  cloudless  blue  the  moon, 
Demayet  smiled  beneath  her  ray; 
Old  Stirling's  towers  arose  in  light, 
And,  twined  in  links  of  silver  bright 
Her  winding  river  lay." 


—  3i  — 

Edinburgh  is  two  cities   in  one-     The   old  city  lies 
south;  and  the  new,  north  of  a  deep  ravine,  which  was 
at  one  time  a  long  narrow  lake.     From  the  depot  of  the 
North  British   railway,  the  traveler  ascends  a  long  flight 
of  steps  and  emerges  upon  a  long,  narrow  street  leading 
north  to  Princess  street  in  the  "new"  city,  and  intersects 
the  latter  street  a  short  distance  east  of  the  Scott  monu- 
ment.    Almost  opposite  the  monument  stands  the  New 
Waverly  hotel,  at  which  the   "tramps"  stopped  during 
their    stay    in  this  ancient  capital  of  the  Scots.     On   a 
piece   of  ground   on   the   level   of    Princess    street    and 
extending  from  north  to  south  across  the  ravine,  stands 
the  museum  and  picture  gallery,  both  of  which   attract 
the  attention  of  the  stranger  by  the  beauty  of  their  archi- 
tecture, and  both  are  worth  a  visit.     To  the  south-west 
from  the  hotel,  is  seen  the  castle,  perched  upon   a  huge 
rock  several  hundred  feet  high,  her  grim  and  ancient  walls 
frowning  upon  the  city  beneath.    On  a  bright  June  morn- 
ing, when  all  nature  seemed  to  rejoice  in  the  consciousness 
of   her  own  loveliness — the  sun  shining  brightly,   the  air 
cool  and  invigorating,  the  sleepy  city  resting  in  a  sort  of 
happy  indolence;   our  spirits  boyant;  half  intoxicated  by 
the  novelty  and  strangeness  of  the  scenes  around  us,  we 
walked  down   Princess  street,    crossed  the  ravine,   near 
the  museum,  and  began  to  climb  to  the  old  castle  above. 
We  had  not  been  long  in  Europe  yet,  and  castles  were  a 
novelty.    Had  it  been  later  on,  I  am  disposed  to  think  that 
many  who  climbed  that  hill  that  morning,  would  have  de- 
voted the  time  to  something  else.   But  after  a  hard  climb, 


—  32  — 

over  stone  pavements,  through  winding  and  crooked 
streets,  we  reached  the  esplanade,  now  a  drill  ground, 
where  a  regiment  of  Brittish  troops  were  drilling.  The 
troops  belonged  to  one  of  the  famous  Highland  regiments, 
and  were  all  dressed  in  the  peculiar  Highland  costume. 
We  passed  over  the  moat  by  means  of  the  draw  bridge, 
walked  through  the  gateway  under  the  ancient  portcullis 
and  began  the  tour  of  the  casde.  This,  like  most  of  the 
old  castles  of  Scotland  and  England,  is  used  as  barracks  for 
soldiers  of  the  Brittish  army.  The  castle  is  larger  than 
Stirling,  but  does  not  enclose  as  much  ground.  The 
rock  upon  which  it  stands  is  five  hundred  feet  above  the 
sea  level,  and  from  the  castle  is  a  splendid  view  of  the 
city  and  surrounding  country.  To  the  north  lies  the 
new  city,  laid  out  in  squares  and  crescents,  well  built ; 
fine  streets  and  elegant  public  buildings  ;  while  further 
to  the  north  can  be  seen  several  colleges  and  hospitals 
and  other  charitable  institutions.  Nearer  is  St.  Mary's 
Episcopal  cathedral,  a  fine  building  which  can  not  fail  to 
attract  attention.  At  the  base  of  the  rock,  and  between 
it  and  the  new  city,  is  a  beautiful  garden,  occupying  the 
bottom  of  a  former  lake.  The  castle  is  strongly  built,  in 
a  commanding  position,  and  seems  to  be  almost  impreg- 
nable, but  it  could  not  hold  out  long  against  the  modern 
engines  of  war.  One  of  the  most  interesting  things  in 
the  castle  is  an  old  gun,  forged  at  Mons  in  i486,  and 
used  at  the  siege  of  Norham  castle  in  1497.  In  1754  it 
was  taken  to  the  Tower,  at  London,  but  was  restored  to 
Edinburgh  in  1829  by  His  Majesty,  George  IV,  at  the 
solicitation  of  Sir  Walter  Scott.  The  most  noticeable 
feature  of  the  gun,   however,   is  its  construction.       It  is 


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made  of  iron  staves  which  are  bound  together  by  iron 
bands,  upon  the  same  principle  of  our  most   improved 
modern  cannon.     The  balls  which  were  used  for  this  gun 
were  hewed  out  of  stone,  several  of  which  lie  beside  it. 
This  is  the  highest  part  of  the   castle,  and  here  stands  a 
chapel  built  more  than  700  years  ago  in  which  Queen 
Margaret   worshiped.     At  the  south  of  the  royal  court 
stands  the  ancient  parliament  house;  at  the  east  is  the 
palace  of  the  royal  ladies  and  gentleman  of  Scotland;  at  the 
west,  the  building  for  the  maids  and  men  of  the  courtiers 
and  ladies.    The  buildings  are  grand  and  massive.    In  this 
castle,   Mary,  the  mother  of  Mary  Queen  of  Scots  died. 
Here  also  was  Mary  Qu^en  of  Scots  imprisoned  for  eleven 
months,  and  here  the  two  young  Earls  of  Douglas  were  be- 
trayed and  murdered  at  the  "blank  banquet."     To  the 
east  is  seen  Arthur's  Seat,  at  the  base   of  which  is  Holy 
Rood  Palace  where  lived  the  unfortunate  Mary  and  her 
jealous  husband,  Lord  Darnley.     Leaving  the  castle,  we 
go  down  the  cannon  gate;  visit  John  Knox's  church  and 
house;   see   the   "heart   of  Midlothian;"    stand  by   the 
square  brass  plate  in  the  pavement  which  is  said  to  mark 
the  resting  place  of  Knox;  and  walk  on  down  the  street 
which  every  few  blocks  changes  its  name  to  something 
else;    go  into  a  close  here  and  there,  pass  the  "White 
Horse  Inn,  "  formerly  the  most  celebrated  Inn  in  Scot- 
land, and  finally  arrive  in  front  of  the  Holy  Rood  Palace. 
The   ruins  of  the  Abbey  still  stand   connected  with  the 
palace  at  the  north-east  angle.     In  the  Abbey  were  mar- 
ried many  of  the  Stuarts;  and  some  of  them  before  the 
union,    were  crowned    here.     Mary   and   Lord   Darnley 
were  married  in  this  Abbey.     By  order  of  her  majesty, 
Queen  Virtoria.the  historical  apartments  are  thrown  open 
3 


—  34  — 

to  the  public  under  certain  restrictions.  The  picture  gal- 
lery, containing  many  of  the  portraits  of  Scotland's 
rulers,  the  apartments  of  Mary  and  Darnley  and  the  ruins 
of  the  Abbey  are  the  most  interesting  parts,  on  account 
of  their  great  historic  associations.  Herein  Mary's  pri- 
vate chamber,  while  at  supper  with  her,  Rizzio,  the 
Italian,  was  assassinated  by  Darnley,  who  with  his  fellow 
murderers  had  concealed  themselves  in  the  narrow  private 
stairway  leading  to  Mary's  apartments.  The  guides  show 
some  dark  stains  in  the  floor  which  they  tell  you  is  made 
by  Rizzio' s  blood.  The  tapestry  still  hangs  as  it  did 
when  used  by  Mary;  much  of  the  furniture  used  by  her, 
such  as  the  chairs  and  beds  are  kept  in  these  apartments 
just  as  Mary  left  them. 

A  little  to  the  north-west  of  the  palace  is  the  Nec- 
ropolis and  the  unfinished  Parthenon.  Between  the  pal- 
ace and  the  Necropolis  stands  the  magnificent  monument 
to  Robert  Burns.  Across  the  street,  and  a  little  west  of  the 
monument  is  the  high  school  where  Scott  is  said  to  have 
developed  a  greater  propensity  for  telling  stories  than 
earning  lessons .  The  buildings  of  Edinburgh  University 
are  not  handsome,  though  large.  They  are  in  the  midst 
of  the  old  city,  with  no  grounds  around  them  and  in 
comparison  with  Glasgow  university,  are  quite  ordinary. 
But  I  suppose  buildings,  though  very  desirable,  do  not 
constitute  a  university.  The  manners  and  customs  of  the 
people  in  Edinburgh  are  not  different  from  those  of  other 
Scottish  cities. 

Pictures  and  books  are  dearer  than  with  us;  railroad 
fares  and  living  expenses  are  about  the  same.  Clothing 
and  gents'  furnishing  goods  are  but  little  cheaper,  if  any, 


—  35  — 

than  in  the  United  States.     Here  as  everywhere  else  on 
that  side  of  the  ocean,  everybody  wants  a  fee. 

At  last  we  are  ready  to  say  good-bye  to  Edinburgh. 
We  take  a  special  car  and  roll  away  enroute  to  Melrose. 
The  road,  like  all  others  in  Scotland,  is  exceedingly 
crooked;  the  country  hilly  and  beautiful,  devoted  largely 
to  grazing.  On  the  right  we  passed  the  ruins  of  an  old 
hall,  moss  and  ivy  grown,  which  reminded  me  of  Bertram 
Hall,  the  home  of  the  Laird  of  Ellangowan,  as  described 
by  Scott.  As  we  approached  Melrose  memories  of  Scott 
come  to  me  as  I  realize  that  I  am  now  in  the  precints  of 
the  life  and  labors  of  the  immortal  bard. 


©Ijapter  6. 

Melrose,  Abbotsford,  Dryburgh. 

Melrose  is  a  town  of  about  2,000  inhabitants.  The 
houses  are  ot  stone,  the  streets  are  narrow  and  winding. 
Desiring  to  go  to  the  post-office,  I  found  it  by  going 
down  an  alley  between  high  stone  walls,  passing  through 
a  gate  and  entering  the  back  door  of  a  private  residence. 
We  go  to  the  Abbey  Hotel  and  are  assigned  to  a  pleasant 
room  on  the  east  side  of  the  hotel,  overlooking  the  church 
yard  and  the  Abbey.  It  is  a  fine  old  ruin.  The 
hotel  is  a  rambling  old  house  of  stone,  pleasant  and 
quaint.  The*  country  round  about  is  rolling  and  hilly 
and  very  beautiful.  Throughout  the  town  and  around 
the  Abbey  an  almost  unbroken  stillness  reigns.  The 
song  of  birds  interrupted  by  the  occasional  caw  of  a 
rook  is  the  only  sound  I  hear  as  I  write.  Everything  I 
look  at  seems  to  embody  forth  a  reminiscence  of  Sir 
Walter.  The  Abbey  is  an  interesting  and  melancholy 
sight.  Birds  fly  through  the  grand  old  windows;  around 
the  crumbling  towers,  and  under  the  ruined  archways, 
unconscious  that  this  old  pile  is  hallowed  by  associations, 
and  immortalized  in  song.  It  is  built  of  very  hard  stone, 
and  where  it  still  stands  it  is  plain  and  clearly  cut,  many 
parts  being  not  affected  by  the  elements  and  time,  and 
showing  excellent  workmanship.  A  noticeable  feature  is 
that  no  two  capitals  are  alike.  The  ruin  is  caused  by 
the  wanton  destruction  on  the  part  ot  the  people,  nearly 


half  of  the  entire  structure  having  been  torn  down  and 
the  stone  used  in  building  houses.  Over  a  part  of  the 
ruins  grow  bushes,  grass  and  moss.  In  some  places  on 
the  roof  and  tops  of  walls  a  large  amount  of  soil  has 
accumulated  merely  from  decay  and  dust,  being  nearly 
eighteen  inches  thick,  with  plants  and  bushes  growing 
there,  the  seed  of  which  was  probably  carried  there  by 
the  birds.  On  the  north  side  of  the  nave  are  the  marks 
of  Cromwell's  cannon  balls.  Intimately  associated  with 
the  Abbey  is  Scott's  "  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel."  As 
one  stands  within  the  grand  and  gloomy  walls,  the 
scenes  and  incidents  of  the  Minstrel  pass  before  him  like 
a  panorama.  Here  is  a  small  postern  gate  through 
which  William  of  Deloraine  entered  on  his  midnight  visit 
to  the  wizard,  Michael  Scott.  There  is  the  aged  monk's 
stone  cell,  here  the  broad  stone  over  the  wizard,  upon 
which  fell  the  "  Cross  of  red."  Such  a  spell  has  Scott's 
tale  of  the  wizard  created,  that  many  of  the  simple  folks, 
if  out  at  night,  constantly  expect  to  see  the  wizard  ;  and 
the  children  of  the  entire  town  are  always  safely  within 
doors  at  the  first  approach  of  darkness.  Near  the  center 
of  the  intersection  of  the  nave  and  transept  is  a  stone 
where,  it  is  said,  Sir  Walter  was  accustomed  to  sit  for 
hours,  in  silent  contemplation  of  the  east  window  and  the 
splendid  roof.     His  own  description  of  it  is  the  best  : 

"  The  moon  on  the  east  oriel  shone 

Through  slender  shafts  of  shapely  stone, 

By  foliaged  tracery  combined  ; 

Thou  wouldst  have  thought  some  fairy's  hand 

'Twixt  poplars  straight  the  osier  wand 

In  many  a  freakish  knot  had  twined  ; 

Then  framed  a  spell  when  the  work  was  done 

And  changed  the  willow  wreaths  to  stone." 


-  3«  - 

Night  is  the  best  time  to  view  the  ruins.  It  was  built 
by  David  I,  of  Scotland,  or  rather  under  his  patronage. 
The  fanaticism  of  Knox  and  Henry  VIII,  caused  its 
destruction.  One  can  scarcely  find  a  prettier  picture 
than  the  old  Abbey,  "like  some  tall  rock  with  lichens 
gray,"  nestling  in  the  beautiful  valley,  bathed  in  the 
afternoon  sun  of  a  bright  June  day,  the  Tweed,  like  a 
thread  of  silver  in  the  fore  ground,  the  Eildon  hills  in  the 
back  ground,  here  and  there  through  the  valley  old  oak 
trees  that  have  kept  guard  over  the  Abbey  for  centuries. 

We  climbed  Eildon  hills,  and  standing  on  the  summit, 
beheld  far  beneath  us  and  around  us  a  landscape  that  is 
worthy  the  poet's  pen  or  the  artist's  pencil.  The  hills 
are  a  part  of  the  estate  of  the  Duke  of  Bucchleuch,  whose 
residence  lies  on  the  side  opposite  the  town.  The 
remains  of  an  old  Roman  wall  is  seen  on  this  hill,  and 
marks  the  site  of  a  Roman  camp.  Some  dozen  or  more 
villages  can  be  seen,  the  Tweed  can  be  traced  for  miles ; 
parks,  forests  and  cultivated  fields  are  intermingled  in 
charming  confusion.  The  residence  of  the  Duke  of  Rox- 
bury  can  just  be  seen  in  the  distance.  Ravenwood,  the 
elegant  country  seat  of  Admiral  Fairfax,  presents  a 
delightful  appearance. 

"And  far  beneath  in  lustre  wan, 

Old  Melrose  rose,  and  fair  Tweed  ran." 

At  night,  sitting  at  the  window  of  my  room,  looking  at 
the  old  and  venerable  Abbey  bathed  in  a  perfect  flood  of 
silvery  light,  the  words  of  Scott  occur  to  me: 

"If thou  wouldst  view  fair  Melrose  aright, 
Go  visit  it  by  the  pale  moon-light. 
For  the  gay  beams  of  l;ghtsome  day, 
Gild  but  to  flout  the  ruins  gray. 


—  39  — 

When  the  broken  arches  are  black  in  night, 
And  each  shafted  oriel  glimmers  white; 
When  the  cold  light's  uncertain  shower 
Streams  on  the  ruined  central  tower  ; 
When  buttress  and  buttress  alternately 
Seems  framed  of  ebon  and  ivory, 
When  Silver  edges  the  imagery — 
Then  go — but  go  alone  the  while, 
Then  view  St.  David's  ruined  pile  ; 
And,  home  returning  soothly  swear, 
Was  never  scene  so  sad  and  fair." 

The  visitor  to  Melrose  will  hardly  leave  without 
seeing  Abbotsford,  the  home  of  Scott.  It  lies  but  a  short 
distance  from  the  town.  The  way  leads  through  a  most 
delightful  country,  the  road  hard  and  smooth,  and  as 
usual  about  twenty  feet  wide.  It  winds  around  like  the 
course  of  a  small  stream  Neat  hedges  or  stone  fences, 
mostly  the  latter,  border  the  sides.  An  abundance  of 
roses,  which  grow  to  a  surprising  size,  adorn  many  of  the 
stone  fences  and  house  sides.  Holly  grows  at  the  road 
side  ;  laburnums  adorn  the  landscape  with  their  peculiar 
yellow.  The  plowed  fields  on  the  hill  sides  are  a  perfect 
terra  cotta  in  color  and  afford  a  delightful  contrast  to  the 
fresh  green  fields  by  their  side.  All  this  land  on  both 
sides  of  the  road  from  Abbotslord  to  Melrose  was  once 
the  property  of  Sir  Walter  Scott.  Finally  we  reach  the 
house.  In  a  pretty  valley,  nestling  close  up  to  the  hill 
on  the  south,  and  a  green  lawn  stretching  away  to 
"Tweed's  fair  river  broad  and  deep,"  lies  the  house 
called  Abbotsford.  It  is  what  any  student  of  Scott's 
works  would  expect  to  find.  In  almost  every  respect  it 
is  a  reproduction  of  the  old  feudal  castle  adapted  to  mod- 
ern modes  of  life,  and  to  more  recent  social  conditions. 


—  4©  — 

It  was  not  built  of  course,  for  defense,  but  it  is  large, 
enclosed  by  stone  walls  and  imitations  of  all  the  means  ot 
defense  to  be  found  in  the  old  castles.  It  is  built  of 
stone,  with  towers,  turrets  and  battlements.  We  enter 
at  a  postern  gate  on  the  east  side,  traverse  a  stone  walk 
guarded  on  either  side  by  high  stone  walls,  and  enter  the 
house.  Only  the  rooms  on  the  east  side  are  open  to 
visitors.  The  remainder  of  the  house  is  occupied  by  the 
present  owner,  the  Hon.  Mrs.  Maxwell  Scott,  great 
grand-daughter  of  the  Baronet.  We  are  first  permitted 
to  enter  the  study.  It  remains  iust  as  the  poet  left  it. 
In  the  center  stands  the  table  or  desk  which  he  used 
when  at  his  literary  labors.  Arranged  around  the  wall 
from  the  floor  to  the  ceiling  are  shelves  of  books  covering 
the  entire  space  except  that  used  for  doors  and  windows. 
A  short  flight  of  steps  at  the  west  side  of  the  room 
ascends  to  a  narrow  walk  about  half  way  to  the  top  of  the 
room,  which  renders  the  higher  shelves  accessible  and 
also  leads  to  the  south  east  corner  to  a  door  that  enters 
the  author's  bed  chamber.  In  an  alcove  in  the  same 
corner  but  below  the  chamber,  is  a  cast  of  the  poet's 
head  taken  immediately  after  his  death.  From  the  study 
we  enter  the  library,  a  very  large  room  facing  the  north 
and  overlooking  the  pleasant  grounds,  the  Tweed,  and 
the  beautiful  hills  beyond.  The  library  consists  of  20,000 
volumes  of  books,  which  now  are  never  touched,  except 
to  be  occasionally  dusted.  Every  thing  in  this  room,  as 
is  true  of  all  others  also,  remains  as  the  author  lelt  it 
when  he  died.  In  the  north  window  stands  a  case  con- 
taining many  valuable  and  historical  relics  ;  at  the  west 
a  cabinet  presented  to  Sir  Walter  by  His  Majesty, 
George   IV.     It   is   made   of  ebony   and   is  almost  the 


—  4i   — 

exact  counterpart  of  one  recently  patented  in  America. 
Here  is  also  a  curiously  hand-carved  cabinet,  which  was 
the  property  of  Sir  Walter's  father.  We  next  pass  into 
the  drawing  room.  The  same  furniture  of  red  plush  or 
velvet,  and  brass  trimmings,  used  by  Sir  Walter,  is  yet 
in  this  room.  The  paper  on  the  walls  is  Chinese  hand- 
painted.  The  ceiling  is  painted  to  resemble  the  sky  with 
a  huge  brass  sun  in  the  center,  from  which  drops  the  gas 
fixture-  The  windows  of  this  room  also  overlook  the 
Tweed.  Next  we  pass  into  the  armory.  Here  are  many 
rare  and  curious  arms,  among  which  are  Sir  Walter's 
sword,  the  sword  of  Rob  Roy,  and  that  of  Col.  Scott, 
the  Baronet's  son.  One  thing  in  this  room  recalls  a  sad 
bit  of  English  history.  It  is  the  small  cross,  inlaid  with 
pearl,  that  the  unfortunate  Mary,  Queen  ot  Scotts,  held 
in  her  hand  at  her  execution.  Hung  upon  the  wall,  may 
be  seen  the  poet's  hunting  guns,  and  pictures  of  his 
favorite  dogs.  From  the  armory  we  pass  into  a  room 
that  might  be  called  the  museum.  Of  the  many  rare  and 
curious  things  collected  by  Sir  Walter  and  placed  in  this 
room,  perhaps  the  most  interesting  is  the  chest  in  which 
the  unsuspecting  Genevra  perished.  All  who  have  read 
that  touching  poem  will  pause  with  interest  before  this 
wooden  chest.  Here  also  are  two  complete;  suits  of 
armour,  one  of  which  was  picked  up  after  the  battle  of 
Flodden  Field,  and  with  it  a  huge  two  handed  broad 
sword,  in  the  u«e  of  which  the  Highlanders  were  so 
skilled.  We  now  pass  out  and  have  seen  all  that  is  open 
to  the  public.  I  think  Abbotsford  is  one  of  the  most 
charming  spots  in  Scotland.  A  poet's  appreciation  of 
the  beautiful  was  manifested  by  Scott's  selection  of  this 
place  for  a  home.     We  leave  here  with  many  a  lingering 


—  42   — 

look  at  the  hills,  the  river,  the  grounds  and  the  house. 
We  drive  to  Dryburgh  Abbey,  where  the  author  is 
buried.  It  is  one  of  the  most  complete  ruins  in  Scotland. 
But  little  of  the  ancient  Abbey  stands,  yet  the  crumbling 
walls  show  its  former  glory.  The  monastery  partly 
remains,  and  the  chapter  house  is  in  a  good  state  of 
preservation.  The  author  and  poet  is  buried  in  the  north 
part  of  the  transept.  Many  others  of  his  family  rest  here, 
among  whom  are  his  wile,  mother,  son  and  son-in-law. 
This  abbey  was  founded  about  1 150,  A.  D.  Not  far  from 
the  grave  of  Scott  is  a  yew  tree  which  is  known  to  be 
seven  hundred  years  old,  but  to  whose  real  age  the  "mem- 
ory of  man  runneth  not  back. ' '  So  much  for  the  historical 
associations  that  cluster  about  quiet  Melrose.  But  did 
the  traveler  know  nothing  about  Sir  Walter  Scott,  he 
would  know  that  here  not  long  ago  a  man  had  lived.  He 
would  find  indisputable  traces  of  one  who  had  lived  and 
loved  and  elevated  those  about  him,  and  upon  whom  he 
has  left  the  impress  of  his  greatness.  The  chief  charac- 
teristic of  his  greatness  was  his  goodness.  The  mention 
of  Scott's  name,  will  bring  tears  to  the  eyes  of  many  of 
the  old  and  aged  people  of  this  quiet  town.  They  loved 
him,  and  their  children  love  his  memory.  Walter  Scott 
was  not  a  nobleman  because  he  kneeled  at  the  feet  of 
royalty  and  was  dubbed  a  knight,  and  received  a  patent 
of  nobility  creating  him  a  baronet,  but  he  was  a  noble- 
man because  he  had  a  noble  character.  Let  us  pray  that 
there  may  be  raised  up  among  us  many  Sir  Walters 
to  leave  the  impress  of  their  goodness  and  their  wisdom 
upon  the  people  and  the  institutions  of  our  land.  One 
characteristic  of  the  people  of  Melrose  must  not  be 
omitted  because  it  is  so  rare.     Everybody  goes  to  church 


—  43  — 

on  Sunday  morning — even  the  saloon  keeper  and  his 
family.  There  are  many  churches — all  fine  stone  struct- 
ures. The  established  religion  is  the  Presbyterian,  but 
many  other  denominations  are  there,  and  all  seem  to  be 
of  about  equal  numerical  strength.  Nowhere  else  in  my 
life  did  I  ever  see  such  a  swarm  of  people  on  the  way  to 
church  on  a  Sunday  morning. 

In  both  Scotland  and  England,  one  cannot  fail  to 
observe  the  extent  to  which  oak  is  used  for  finishing 
in  buildings.  The  old  houses  are,  almost  without  ex- 
ception, finished  with  polished  oak,  which  gives  a  rich 
appearance  to  the  rooms.  Furniture  is  also  made  of  oak 
in  many  instances. 

In  the  towns  which  are  generally  visited  by  tourists, 
rates  at  the  hotels  are  exceedingly  high  in  comparison  to 
the  cost  of  food  at  the  shops  or  stores.  In  one  instance, 
some  of  us  got  a  better  meal  at  a  bakery  for  3d  than 
we  had  at  the  hotel  for  2s.  6d.  In  Scotland,  during  the 
long  summer  days,  the  cows  are  milked  three  times  a 
day.  The  climate  is  delightfully  cool  and  pleasant.  I 
remember  one  day  when  the  people  were  complaining  of 
the  heat,  that  to  us  it  was  very  pleasant — about  such  a 
day  as  is  often  experienced  at  home  in  the  month  of 
May. 


•  oOo« 


©r}&pter  7. 

Cambridge  University. 

From  Melrose  to  London  the  railroad  is  crooked  as 
the  roads  usually  are  in  Great  Britian.  Tunnels  abound, 
and  the  lamps  in  the  cars  are  kept  burning  to  relieve 
the  darkness  of  the  numerous  tunnels.  As  the  train  goes 
southward,  the  stone  houses  are  gradually  replaced  with 
red  brick  structures.  The  stone  fences  give  way  to  neat 
hedges,  and  the  hills  to  level  or  slightly  undulating  coun- 
try. Farming  becomes  more  general,  though  the  ab- 
sence of  improved  methods  and  modern  machinery  is 
noticeable.  Grass  is  cut  with  a  scythe  in  a  great  meas- 
ure, and  occasionally  an  old  wind  mill,  such  as  Don 
Quixote  contended  with,  is  seen  doing  service  for  the 
want  of  better  motive  power.  These  mills  are  really 
a  curiosity  to  an  American  who  has  never  seen  any  other 
than  the  neat,  trim  mill  of  his  own  country.  In  every 
part  of  England  which  I  visited,  it  seemed  to  be  one  vast 
park  with  neatly  trimmed  hedges,  groves  of  rare  old 
trees,  massive  buildings,  beautiiul  gardens  of  flowers  and 
herbs,  pretty  streams  and  delightful  roads.  The  Eng- 
lishman may  well  be  proud  of  his  native  country — but 
far  from  justifiable,  or  even  excusable,  is  any  pride  of 
her  institutions,  or  her  social  or  political  condition. 
Along  the  line  of  the  railway  are  numerous  large  manu- 
facturing  towns — such    towns   as    Charles    Dickens    has 


—  45  — 

faithfully  described  in  "Hard  Times."  We  may  well 
ask  ourselves  whether  the  misery  and  want,  the  brutal 
treatment  of  operatives,  the  low  tide  of  morals,  the 
ignorance  and  ciime,  the  necessity  for  the  entire  family — 
husband,  mother  and  children — to  go  into  the  mill  or 
the  mine,  or  into  the  heat  of  the  forge,  are  the  legitimate 
result  of  a  dense  population,  and  inevitable  where  a  coun- 
try becomes  old  and  populous?  -Being  on  my  way  to  visit 
the  University  of  Cambridge,  I  only  stay  one  night  in  the 
metropolis  of  the  world,  and  leave  early  the  next  morning 
for  the  seat  of  this  ancient  institution  of  learning  It  had 
always  been  my  desire  to  see  a  real  university.  But  few 
people,  except  those  who  have  visited  one  of  the  two 
great  universities  of  England,  realize  what  is  meant  by 
the  term.  There  is  no  similarity  between  a  German  and 
an  English  university.  The  latter  is  a  monstrous  aggre- 
gation of  colleges.  Yale,  Harvard,  John's  Hopkins 
and  Ann  Arbor  are  modeled  more  nearly  on  the  Ger- 
man plan  than  any  others.  We  have  no  school  in 
America  similar  to  the  universities  of  Cambridge  or  Ox- 
ford. Cambridge  consists  of  seventeen  colleges.  Each 
one  of  these  colleges  is  an  entirely  distinct  and  separate 
school  from  the  other.  Each  has  courses  of  study  cov- 
ering about  the  same  ground  and  of  about  equal  value  for 
mental  discipline.  If,  in  Indiana,  we  should  take  DePauw, 
Butler,  Notre  Dame,  Wabash  Colleges,  together  with 
all  the  other  colleges  and  place  them  together  in  the  same 
town,  reserving  to  each  its  separate  and  entire  control  of 
its  own  affairs,  but  giving  a  general  supervision  of  the 
general  affairs  to  a  board  chosen  annually  from  the  facul- 
ties of  the  various  colleges,  we  should  have  precisely  an 
English  university,  except  that  it  would  be  quite  small  in 


-  46  - 

comparison  with  either  Oxford  or  Cambridge.     So  at  the 
latter  place  each  college  is  a  separate  and  entirely  inde- 
pendent corporation.   The  management  of  each  college 
is  in  the  hands  of  a  "Master"  and  a  faculty  of  professors, 
fellows  and  tutors.    The  master  corresponds  to  the  presi- 
dent of  the  American  college.     Although  each  college  is 
independent  of  all  the  others  as  to   the  work   done  by 
them,  yet  all  are  subject  to  the  higher  law  of  the  "univer- 
sity" corporation  in  the  matters  of  general  and  common 
interest  to  all.  The  relation  of  the  colleges  to  each  other 
and  to  the  university,  is  about  the  same  as  the  relation  of 
our  several  states  to  each  other,  and  to  the  general  gov- 
ernment.      The   nominal  head    of    the  university    is    a 
chancellor,    but    the    real     head    is    a    vice-chancellor. 
The   discipline   of  all   the    colleges   is   vested  in    proc- 
tors,   assisted  by  two  professors  from  each  college,  the 
latter,  having  jurisdiction  of  matters  of  discipline  coming 
from  their   respective   colleges  ;  the   power   of  the   two 
proctors  being  nominal  merely.    The  salary  of  the  mas- 
ters of  the  various  colleges  varies,  being  about  $10,000 
per  year  for  each  ;  that  of  the  professors  is  a  little  less  ; 
that  of  the  fellows  depend  upon  the  endowment  of  the 
fellowships,  while  the  tutors  being  largely  dependant  upon 
fees,   often  amounts  to  as  much  as  that  of  the  master. 
The  smallest  college  at  Cambridge  is  larger  it  point  of 
buildings,  than  the  largest  one  in  Indiana.     The  build- 
ings at  the   university    of   Notre   Dame,    Indiana,    the 
largest  in  the  west  in  point  of  buildings  and  grounds,  are 
not  as  massive  and  substantial,  or  as  large  and  numerous 
as  those  of  St.  Peter's  college,   the  smallest  one  at  Cam- 
bridge.    Some  of  the  colleges  are  four  times  as  large  as 
St.  Peter's,  and  by  keeping  in  mind  this  fact  and  remem- 


—  47  — 

bering  that  there  are  seventeen  of  them,  the  reader  can 
form  some  idea  of  the  size  of  Cambridge  University.      I 
was  surprised  at  the  size  and  magnificence  of  this  univer- 
sity.    Besides   the   college   buildings,    there   are  several 
buildings  belonging  to  the  university  corporation,  just  as 
our  state  buildings  belong  to  the  various  states,  and  our 
public  buildings  at  Washington  belong   to   the  general 
government.    Among  these  are  the  university  library,  the 
senate  building  and  the  museums.    Each  of  the  seventeen 
colleges   has    its   separate  library,    ranging   from    6,000 
volumes  to   100,000  volumes  each,  while  the  university 
library  has  400,000  volumes  besides,  just  as  our  states 
have  public  libraries    for   each  state,    and  the  National 
library  for  the  general  government.     The  constitution  of 
the  university  bears  a  close  analog)'  to  our  government. 
It  may  be  called  in  fact,   a   "Literary  commonwealth." 
The  attendance  is  about  1 0,000.  The  students  wear  gowns 
and  caps. 

These  colleges  at  Cambridge  represent  a  growth 
covering  several  centuries.  They  owe  their  existence  to 
endowments  from  rich  men  and  women,  to  acts  of  parlia- 
ment, to  donations  of  England's  various  monarchs,  to 
the  work  of  the  Bishops  of  the  established  church  and 
many  other  sources.  To  describe  the  architecture  is  an 
impossibility,  it  being  of  all  kinds,  though  Italian  and 
perpendicular  Gothic  prevail.  All  the  college  buildings 
are  constructed  with  quadrangles  and  courts.  The  win- 
dows in  many  of  the  chapels  are  elegant  and  very  costly. 
The  river  runs  in  the  rear  of  most  of  the  colleges,  and 
the  grounds  are  kept  in  splendid  condition.  The  most 
noticeable  chapel  is  at  King's  college.  Its  architecture  is 
that  known  as  third  pointed  or  perpendicular  Gothic. 


-48  — 

"The  exterior  of  this  building  is  very  striking  and  grand; 
at  each  angle  is  a  lofty  octagonal  tower,    and  on  either 
side  are  eleven  buttresses  of  four  stages,  which  terminate 
eleven   feet  above  the  battlement  in  crooked  pinnacles; 
these    immense   buttresses    have,    between    their   lower 
stages,  a  series  of  eighteen  small  chantries  or  side  chapels 
which,   while  they  take  off  the  massiveness  of  the  but- 
tresses externally,  add  also  a  most  interesting  and  unique 
internal  feature  to  the  edifice.     The  interior  is  still  more 
impressive.     The  vast  roof  vaulted  throughout  with  ex- 
quisit  fan  tracery;  unsustained  by  a  single  pillar,  the  'dim 
religious  light'  shed  by  richly  painted  windows  and  the 
grand  and  awful  perspective,  generally  impress  the  mind 
of  the  spectator  with  a  feeling  of  devotional  solemnity 
almost  unearthly."     The  roof  is  vaulted  in  twelve  divis- 
ions;  each  vault  is  supported  by  a   keystone  weighing 
more  than  a  ton.     The  organ  and  windows  are  wonder- 
ful.      The   bellows   of   the   organ   is   worked   by   water 
power;  and  the  paintings  of  the  windows  are  some  of  the 
rarest   specimens   ol  English   art.     Each    college   has  a 
chapel,  but  none  approach  King's  in  grandeur.    Such,  in 
brief,  is  Cambridge  university. 


••o^o«- 


©rj&pter  8. 


Rotterdam,  The  Hague,   "The  House  in 
the  Woods." 

I  suppose  that  for  a  party  of  "tramps"  we  had 
hardly  done  the  amount  of  walking  that  should  have 
been  expected  of  us,  but  defying  criticism,  we  again  took 
cars  for  Harwich.  Here  we  are  on  the  shore  of  the 
North  Sea,  our  destination,  Rotterdam,  Holland.  Of 
course  we  can't  walk  across  the  sea,  so  we  embark  in  a 
trim  little  steamer  called  the  "  Princess  of  Wales,  "  which 
carries  us  safely  to  our  destination  without  encountering 
any  of  the  rough  weather  so  characteristic  of  this  sea. 

When  we  awoke  in  the  morning,  the  boat  was  in 
the  river  Maas,  a  passage  from  the  Rhine  to  the  sea.  On 
both  sides  are  dykes,  behind  which,  considerably  lower 
than  the  surface  of  the  water  in  the  river,  is  the  land 
which  has  been  reclaimed  from  the  sea  by  these  thrifty 
Dutch.  These  lands,  once  the  bottom  of  the  sea,  are  now 
quite  thickly  inhabited.  Thriving  towns  and  villages  lie 
along  the  river  ;  the  fields  are  as  flat  and  level  as  a  floor, 
and  herds  of  Holstein  cattle  graze  upon  them.  In  these 
towns  windmills  are  almost  entirely  used  for  motive  power 
in  the  factories  and  mills.  The  houses  are  mostly  built 
of  brick,  and  look  old,  and  as  to  style  are  decidedly 
"Dutch."     A  superficial  examination  of  our  luggage  is 

4 


—  5o  — 

made  by  some  custom-house  officers,  and  we  are  then 
permitted  to  go  on  board  a  smaller  boat  which  steams  on 
up  the  river  and  lands  us  finally  at  a  dock  on  the  north 
side  of  the  river.  We  take  street  cars,  which  in  Rotter- 
dam, only  stop  at  regular  stations,  and  find  ourselves 
soon  at  the  Market  place.  It  is  a  small  rectangular  space 
surrounded  by  high  buildings;  and  almost  everything 
imaginable  is  displayed  for  sale.  Not  the  least  tempting 
is  the  fine  fruit.  The  strawberries  and  cherries  were  the 
finest  and  largest  I  ever  saw.  The  "tramps"  made  a 
rush  for  the  fruit  stands,  and  when  we  had  ascertained 
the  ridiculously  low  price,  we  bought  in  a  princely  (?) 
way,  in  huge  quantities,  to  the  astonishment  of  the  by- 
standers, and  the  delight  of  the  old  women  who  kept  the 
stands.  But  we  attracted  attention.  But  I  think  that  a 
crowd  of  twenty  strangers  under  the  same  circumstances, 
would  attract  attention,  even  in  America.  The  natives 
began  to  gather  around  and  watch  us.  Even  the  pretty 
lady  clerks  came  out  of  the  shops  to  see  the  "tramps." 
This  I  particularly  objected  to  (my  wife  was  along). 
However  some  of  the  boys  did  not  seem  to  object  in  the 
least.  The  Dutch  evidently  thought  we  were  curiosities 
— rare  ones  at  that.  In  about  ten  minutes  there  must 
have  been  two  or  three  hundred  people  around  us,  their 
mouths  wide  open,  their  eyes  wide  with  wonder.  To  be 
frank  about  it,  I  think  we  were  very  proper  objects  to 
excite  astonishment.  Remember  that  in  Holland  no  one 
ever  so  far  forgets  himself  as  to  eat  anything  on  the 
streets,  yet  we  were  very  successfully  trying  to  dispose  of 
two  or  three  bushels  of  berries,  more  or  less,  in  the 
most  public  market  place  in  Rotterdam.  A  policeman 
in  white  pants,  a  drawn  sword  in  his  hands,  finally  drives 


—  5i    — 

back  the  crowd;  and  the  lately  surrounded  tramps  march 
away  to  the  hotel,  which  happens  to  be  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  square.  But  the  crowd  follows.  They  even 
get  there  ahead  of  us,  and  form  a  file  on  each  side,  and 
we  march  through  the  avenue  thus  formed  and  enter  the 
hotel.  One  of  the  most  peculiar  things  on  the  continent 
is  the  size  of  the  beds.  Seriously,  I  think  I  am  within 
the  truth  when  I  say  that  the  beds  are  no  more  than  two 
feet  wide.  Not  knowing  this,  I  ordered  a  room  with  one 
bed.  Judge  my  surprise  when  I  see  it.  Mark  Twain  says 
that  the  beds  are  so  narrow  that  when  one  forgets  himself 
and  goes  to  sleep,  the  cover  invariably  slides  off  onto  the 
floor.  Mark  is  right  about  it.  You  are  expected  to  lie 
awake  to  hold  the  cover  on  the  bed.  Another  peculiar- 
ity about  hotels  on  the  continent  is  that  no  soap  is  ever 
furnished.  You  must  carry  your  own  if  you  desire  it. 
This  custom,  however,  I  think  is  founded  on  good  sense 
and  sound  hygenic  principles,  unlike  many  others.  It  is 
superior  to  our  practice  in  this  regard.  We  had  been  in 
the  hotel  but  a  few  minutes,  when  a  boy  appeared  with  a 
box  of  toilet  soap,  neatly  put  up,  which  he  wanted  to  dis- 
pose of  at  a  fabulous  price  per  cake.  But  we  had  already 
provided  ourselves  with  soap  before  leaving  America, 
and  we  dismissed  him  with  "thanks." 

The  streets  of  Rotterdam  are  very  narrow,  many  of 
them  do  not  exceed  six  feet  in  width.  They  are  so  crooked 
that  I  can't  think  of  anything  with  which  to  compare 
them.  The  narrow  streets  have  no  sidewalks.  Those 
which  are  wide  have  walks  at  the  side  varying  in  width 
from  two  to  three  feet.  But  they  are  seldom  used  for 
walking  upon.  They  are  always  obstructed  by  bales  of 
goods,    boxes,    crates,   and   when  nothing  'else   can   be 


—  52  — 

thought  of  for  which  to  use  them,  then  you  may  walk  on 
them.  But  the  inhabitants  universally  walk  in  the  middle 
of  the  streets.  Carts  and  wagons  are  usually  pulled  by 
dogs  and  women  hitched  up  together,  sometimes  a 
man  and  a  dog.  But  one  who  has  never  seen  a  dog 
trained  to  pull  carts,  can  scarcely  realize  how  they  will 
pull,  and  how  angry  they  become  when  another  dog  and 
cart  succeeds  in  passing  them.  In  many  places  dogs  are 
used  exclusively  to  draw  milk  carts.  But  when  later  I 
saw  in  Germany  a  woman  harnessed  to  a  wagon  beside  a 
donkey,  the  astonishment  at  seeing  them  hitched  up  with 
a  dog  somewhat  subsided.  Now.  this  is  an  actual  fact 
that  in  many  places  on  the  continent  the  traveler  can  see 
women  thus  used  at  the  side  of  donkeys,  dogs  and  oxen 
as  beasts  of  burden .  It  is  only  the  fact  that  they  are 
hitched  up  with  dogs  and  oxen  that  looks  queer,  for  we 
often  see  women  in  America  hitched  up  for  life  alongside 
donkeys. 

A  number  of  the  streets  are  canals  with  a  narrow 
sidewalk  on  each  side.  Boats  are  propelled  along  these 
canals  by  means  of  a  long  pole.  The  boatman  in  the 
prow  thrusts  the  pole  to  the  bottom,  places  it  against  his 
shoulder  and  begins  to  walk  toward  the  rear  of  the  boat, 
which  is  thus  pushed  forward. 

The  women  are  generally  bareheaded  on  the  streets 
and  wear  a  peculiar  ornament  on  each  side  of  the  head 
and  about  the  level  of  the  eyes.  It  resembles  a  large 
spiral  bed  spring,  and  is  usually  made  of  polished  brass 
wires.  Many  people  in  Rotterdam  speak  German.  In 
many  of  the  shops,  English  speaking  clerks  are  em- 
ployed. The  Dutch  are  the  most  incessant  smokers  I  saw 
in  Europe.  The  principal  business  is  commerce  and  ship- 


53 

building,  but  everything  "is  subordinate  to  coloring 
meerschaums."  The  men  are  boorish  and  ungallant.  I 
have  several  times  seen  a  number  of  them  enter  a  com- 
partment of  a  railway  car,  and  puff  away  at  their  vile 
cigars  and  strong  pipes  in  the  presence  of  ladies,  until  I 
was  nearlv  choked.  Yet  the  women  seem  to  take  it  as  a 
matter  of  course.  They  have  never  experienced  anything 
different.  It  is  the  custom  of  the  country,  and  there- 
fore proper.  Indeed  everywhere  on  the  continent 
smoking  in  the  presence  of  ladies,  and  at  dinner  between 
courses,  is  so  common  that  it  is  regarded  as  quite  the 
proper  thing  to  do. 

"As  flat  as  Holland,  "  is  a  simile  quite  familiar  to  every 
reader,  and  it  is  a  true  one.  The  land  is  the  flattest  to 
be  seen  anywhere.  A  ride  from  Rotterdam  to  the  Hague, 
reveals  many  things  that  to  an  American  are  quite  curi- 
ous. First  he  is  amazed  at  the  long,  flat  stretch  of  coun- 
try, all  the  way  as  level  as  a  floor.  Then  he  wonders 
how  it  is  drained.  Nowhere  does  he  see  a  fence.  Instead 
offences  are  canals  or  wide  and  deep  ditches.  The  land 
is  divided  into  fields  by  means  of  these  canals  full  of 
water.  They  serve  the  double  purpose  of  fences  and 
drains.  Bridges  that  can  be  drawn  back  from  over  the 
canal  take  the  place  of  gates.  Sometimes  the  bridge  is' 
stationary  and  a  gate  is  thrown  across  the  bridge.  The 
principal  crop  is  hay.  The  chief  industry  of  the  country 
is  raising  Holstein  cattle  and  making  cheese.  All  these 
ditches  and  canals  lead  to  larger  ones  which,  in  turn,  lead 
to  the  dykes.  But  here  the  water  must  stop  flowing,  if 
it  can  be  said  to  flow,  because  it  is  several  feet  lower  than 
the  water  on  the  other  side  of  the  dyke.  Hence  at  con- 
venient  intervals   along   the   dyke,    huge  old-fashioned 


—  54  — 

windmills  are  stationed  by  means  of  which  the  water  is 
pumped  up  over  the  dyke  and  into  the  sea. 

The  Hague  is  the  capital  of  the  Netherlands,  and  is 
laid  out  irregularly  with  crooked  and  narrow  streets  not 
at  all  different  from  other  Dutch  towns.  The  houses  in 
both  the  Hague  and  in  Rotterdam  are  generally  built  of 
red  brick,  have  tiled  roofs,  and  the  fronts  of  many  of 
them  lean  forward  far  over  the  street.  How  this  pecul- 
iarity is  accounted  for,  I  could  not  learn,  but  some  will 
tell  you'that  they  were  built  that  way,  others  that  the  soft 
and  yielding  ground  has  settled  and  caused  it.  But  I 
am  disposed  to  think  that  much  of  it  can  be  attributed  to 
awkward  and  careless  workmanship.  Our  first  object  of 
interest  at  the  Hague  was  the  Royal  Palace.  We  were 
quite  cordially  received  by  the  servants,  to  whom  we 
gave  a  liberal  lee,  to  show  us  through  the  palace,  the 
king  and  queen  being  away  at  their  summer  residence 
near  Amsterdam,  (much  to  to  their  regret,  no  doubt, 
when  they  learned  that  our  distinguished  party  had  been 
there),  and  were  permitted  to  go  entirely  through 
the  palace,  visiting  the  queen's  waiting  room,  dining 
room,  boudoir,  sleeping  apartments  and  toilet  rooms. 
The  finish  of  the  rooms  is  mahogany,  the  furniture  is  of 
various  rare  kinds  of  wood,  and  the  upholstery  of  the 
finest  satan  elegantly  worked.  We  next  went  into  the 
small  and  large  ball  rooms  and  the  king's  dining  room, 
in  which  are  portraits  of  the  various  members  of  the 
royal  family,  among  which  is  one  of  William  II,  the 
reigning  king's  father.  In  front'of  this  portrait  stands 
the  stuffed  remains  of  the  horse  ridden  by  William  II 
at  the  battle  of  Waterloo.  This  horse,  it  is  said,  lived  to 
be  66  years  old.   The  walls  of  the  king's  reception  room 


—  55  — 

and  sleeping  rooms  are  covered  with  satin.  The  walls  of 
most  of  the  rooms  of  the  palace  are  covered  with  velvet 
or  silk,  and  the  ceilings  are  beautifully  decorated.  The 
name  of  the  reigning  king  is  William  III,  the  queen  is 
Emma,  a  German  princess.  The  king  is  70  years  old,  the 
queen  is  29.  Having  walked  through  the  various  rooms 
inspecting  everything  with  an  American's  prover- 
bial freedom,  and  in  one  short  hour  having  become 
wearied  of  the  grandeur  of  royalty,  we  pass  out  of  the 
palace  and  direct  our  steps  co  the  Royal  picture  gallery 
a  few  blocks  away.  My  reverance  for  the  "divine  right 
of  kings"  was,  however,  not  sufficiently  strong  to  keep 
me  from  wondering  how  or  by  what  process  of  evolution, 
a  people  were  ever  brought  to  endure  miseries  and  bur- 
dens and  tyranny,  to  support  a  few  in  elegance  and  ease 
and  grandeur  such  as  I  had  just  witnessed.  Having  the 
termerity  to  express  some  such  sentiment,  I  was  at  once 
voted  "horrid"  by  the  ladies  who  regarded  it  all  as 
"just  lovely.  "  Perhaps  after  all,  it  is  to  the  women,  that 
royal  families  owe  the  stability  of  their  thrones. 

The  royal  picture  gallery,  though  not  so  extensive 
as  most  European  galleries,  contains  many  productions 
of  the  various  schools,  though,  of  course,  that  of  Reubens 
predominates.  From  the  gallery  we  took  carriages  to  the 
"House  in  the  woods.  "  Most  ot  our  "tramping"  was 
done  in  carriages,  but  this  mode  has  the  virtue  of  being 
a  most  delightful  way  to  "tramp.  "  The  "House  in  the 
woods"  is  the  residence  of  the  Princes  Amelia,  Queen  ol 
Frederick  Henry.  The  building  was  erected  in  1648 
and  is  the  loveliest  spot  in  Holland.  We  visited  the  dining 
room  with  its  chandelier  of  Venetian  glass,  and  ancient 
plate  and  wares.   The  decorations  on  the  walls  so  well  repre- 


-  56  - 

sent  sculpture  that  one  is  completely  deceived.  The  Chin- 
ese room,  the  walls  of  which  are  covered  with  Chinese 
hand-painted  paper,  and  the  Japanese  room  hung  with 
tapestry  of  curious  and  beautiful  design,  and  the  Chinese 
boudoir,  the  tapestry  on  the  walls  of  which  has  hung  there 
for  150  years,  are  most  interesting.  But  the  most  striking 
feature  of  the  palace  is  the  Orange  room.  It  is  a  large  oc- 
tagonal room,  the  walls  of  which  are  fifty  feet  high.  The 
decorations  of  this  room  are  master  pieces  by  nine  pupils 
of  Reubens,  and  represent  the  continuous  labor  of  four 
years.  They  represent,  in  allegory,  the  life  of  Frederick 
Henry. 

We  were  also  shown  many  other  rooms,  among 
them  the  Queen's  sitting  room  and  ball  room,  but  an 
attempt  to  describe  them  is  a  waste  of  time.  The  forest 
in  which  this  palace  is  situated  is  extensive  and  consists 
of  natural  forest  trees  with  splendid  drives  winding 
through  it  in  various  directions,  with  rustic  bridges  across 
the  canals,  and  summer  houses,  and  rustic  seats  in  the 
shade  of  the  spreading  trees,  and  vines  and  shrubs,  in 
delightful  contrast  to  the  narrow  streets  and  ugly  houses 
and  stone  pavements  of  the  city  hard  by.  In  Holland  the 
principal  fuel  is  peet  and  wood.  The  method  of  obtaining 
the  wood  is  worthy  of  mention.  Trees  of  rapid  growth, 
principally  willow,  are  set  out  in  groves,  along  the  banks 
of  canals,  and  the  supply  of  wood  is  obtained  exclusively 
from  the  tops.  The  tops  of  a  certain  number  are  cut  oft 
one  year,  the  next  year  the  tops  of  a  certain  number  of 
others,  and  so  on,  until  the  tops  of  the  first  have  grown 


—  57  —    . 

out  again,  when  they  are  again  cut  off,  and  in  this  manner 

a  perpetual  supply  of  wood   is  obtained  from  the  same 

trees. 

In    Rotterdam   one   is  constantly   reminded   of  the 

Dutch  Governors  of  New  York  and  the  early  settlers  of 
Manhattan  Island,  so  truly  representative  of  Dutch  char- 
acter are  the  illustrations  of  our  school  histories,  and  the 
illustrated  editions  of  Washington  Irving's  works.  At 
every  turn,  one  seems  to  recognize  a  Peter  Stuyvesant,  or 
a  Wooter  Von  Twiller,  or  a  comely  Dutch  matron,  the 
sight  of  whom  carries  us  back  to  the  white  sanded  floors 
and  neatly  kept  houses  of  early  New  York  history. 


©r}&pter  9. 


Cologne — The  Cathedral,    St.    Ursula, 
rolandseck. 

But  the  time  has  come  to  leave  Holland  and  we  take 
cars  for  Germany.  We  pass  through  Utrecht,  which 
every  school  boy  remembers  by  its  associations  with  the 
treaty  of  17 13,  and  about  noon  reach  the  German 
frontier.  The  frontier  town,  on  this  line,  is  Emmerich. 
Here  we  pass  through  the  custom  house.  As  this  one 
is  a  type  of  all  interior  custom  houses,  a  brief  descrip- 
tion may  be  given.  The  passengers  all  alight  from  the 
train  and  together  with  the  luggage  of  every  description, 
are  hustled  into  a  large  room;  in  shape,  a  rectangular 
parallelogram.  Eight  or  ten  feet  from  the  walls,  a  coun- 
ter extends  entirely  around  the  room;  and  within  the 
space  enclosed  by  this  counter,  the  trunks  and  heavy 
baggage  are  piled,  the  valises  and  lighter  baggage  are 
deposited  on  the  counter.  Seven  or  eight  officials  in  full 
uniform  are  present,  and  are  supposed  to  make  a  thor- 
ough examination  of  the  contents  of  all  valises,  trunks, 
etc.,  but  in  fact  a  very  superficial  examination  is  made. 

My  valises  were  not  opened.  I  told  the  officer  that 
I  was  a  traveler  and  had  nothing  liable  to  duty.  He 
marked  the  valise  with  a  piece  of  chalk,  and  I  was  then 


—  59  — 

permitted  to  pass  out  through  an  eating  room  to  the 
platform  between  the  depot  and  the  track,  and  I  again 
took  my  place  in  the  train.  The  trunks,  however,  were 
all  opened  and  hastily  examined.  We  were  now  in  Ger- 
man territory.  What  Dutch  money  we  had  left,  we  ex- 
changed for  German  coin,  which  is  a  decimal  currency. 
The  unit  is  the  mark,  which  consists  of  ioo  pfenig,  and 
in  value  is  nearly  twenty-five  American  cents.  The  pfenig 
is  coined  in  one,  five,  ten,  twenty  and  fifty  pfenig  pieces. 
The  gold  coins  are  a  ten  and  twenty  mark  piece,  nearly 
equivalent  to  our  two  and  one-half  and  five  dollar  gold 
pieces  respectively. 

About  the  middle  of  the  afternoon,  we  arrived  at 
Cologne,  or  "Koeln,  "  as  it  is  in  German.  It  was  not 
our  intention  to  stop  long  at  this  city,  as  the  only  objects 
of  interest  which  we  desired  to  visit  were  the  famous 
cathedral  and  the  church  of  St.  Ursula.  Cologne  con- 
tains 160,000  inhabitants,  95  per  cent,  of  whom  are  said 
to  be  Catholics.  The  cathedral  is  beyond  any  possible 
description.  It  is  a  type  of  those  wonderful  architectural 
enterprises  of  the  middle  ages.  It  has  been  over  600 
years  in  building,  and  was  finally  completed  in  1879. 
The  amount  of  sculpture  and  imagery  and  stone  tracery 
upon  the  outside  is  wonderful.  The  dome,  the  last  part 
completed,  is  518  feet  high.  As  you  ascend,  you  will  see 
at  intervals  the  date  when  each  section  was  completed, 
with  the  name  of  the  supervising  architect.  Thus,  from 
the  bottom,  you  pass  the  work  of  the  middle  ages  as  well 
as  that  of  the  intervening  six  centuries  until,  at  the  top, 
you  see  that  of  our  own  time. 


—  60   - 

From  the  top  the  visitor  sees  the  city  and  country  be- 
low him,  and  the  winding  course  of  the  Rhine  like  a  silver 
thread,  which  is  lost  to  view  in  the  distance.    We  entered 
the  cathedral  while  vespers  were  celebrating.     The  grand 
tones  of  the  wonderful  organ  rolled  through  the  transept 
and   nave,    swelling  and    bursting   and  dying   away  in 
waves  of  melody.      Then  it  was  supplemented   by  the 
chanting  of  the  priests  from  the  altar  and  choir,  which  in 
turn,  was  answered  by  the  devout  responses  of  the  wor- 
shipers.    Then  again  the  organ  would  peal  forth  and  the 
waves  of  music  would  seem   to  dash  and  break  against 
the  clustered  columns,  and  rush  down  the  vast  length  of 
the  nave  and  echo  and  answer  back  again  to  the  echoes 
of  the  transept  and  then  die  away  as  it  in  deference  to 
the  chanting  of  the  surpliced  priests  in  the  choir  behind 
the  altar.     The  bright  sunlight  as   it  came  through  the 
magnificent,  stained-glass  windows,  seemed  to  be  purified 
and  mellowed  and  to  fall  in  a  subdued  and  holy  radiance 
upon  the  heads  of  the  worshipers  like  the  "smile  of  God 
in  benediction."  The  scene,  the  service,  the  entire  sur- 
roundings united  to  produce  in  the  beholder  a  feeling  of 
solemnity  and  awe.     He,   who  for  the  first  time  stands 
within  the  walls  of  some  great  cathedral  and  looks  down 
the  vast  aisles,  beholds  the  clustered  columns,  and  works 
of  art,  the  magnificent  windows,   and  vaulted  roofs  with 
delicate   stone    tracery,    and    hears    the    deep    tones  of 
the  mighty  organ  and  the  chanting   of  the  priests,  all 
objects  subdued  in  the  mellow  light,  experiences  sensa- 
tions indescribable,  and  realizes  fully  the  pomp  and  glory 
of  a   cathedral   service.      There   is    something    in    the 


—  61  — 

service  that  is  truly  awe-inspiring,  and  arouses  in  the 
attendant,  feelings  of  devotion  and  reverence  for  religion 
which,  perhaps,  were  never  experienced  by  him  before. 
The  church  of  St.  Ursula,  at  Cologne,  is  said  to  stand 
on  the  spot  where  Ursula  and  the  11,000  virgins  were 
slain  by  the  Huns,  on  their  retreat  from  the  south  after 
their  reverses  at  Chalons. 

If  the  story  of  St.  Ursula's  life  and  the  tragic  death 
of  herself  and  companions  is  true,  and  if  this  indeed  be 
the  scene  of  the  massacre,  then  this  church  is  a  monu- 
ment that  should  command  the  admiration  of  the  civilized 
world.  For,  if  the  premises  are  true,  it  commemorates 
an  act  of  heroic  defense  of  virtue  and  chastity  and  nobility 
of  womanly  character  that  finds  no  parallel  in  history. 
The  Huns,  so  the  story  goes,  retreating  with  a  large 
army  after  the  defeat  which  decided  the  fate  of  all  Europe, 
came  to  Cologne,  and  after  a  short  seige,  captured  and 
sacked  the  city. 

Shortly  before  this  Ursula  and  her  British  compan- 
ions had  been  compelled  to  flee  from  England  on  account 
of  religious  persecution,  and  had  come  to  the  religious 
settlement  of  Cologne.     Here  Ursula's  purity  had  made 
her  the  model  and  leader  of  all  the  maidens  and  women 
of  the  city.     They  were  delivered  to  the  barbarian  sol- 
diers and  threatened  with  the  most  ignominious  dishonor; 
but,   sustained  by  the  courage  and  counsel   of  Ursula, 
they  firmly  resisted  the  efforts  of  their  brutal  captors  and 
in  one  spot  the  n,ooowere  put  to  death   because  they 
chose  to  defend  their  honor  and  purity. 


—    62    — 

Such  is  the  story,  though  of  doubtful  authenticity,  of 
an  act  of  heroism  without  parallel  in  history.  The  church 
is  now  decorated  on  the  interior  with  the  exhumed  bones 
of  these  virgins.  Whether  the  bones  are  those  of  the 
slain  virgins  or  not,  certainly  some  industrious  individual 
has  succeeded  in  getting  together  an  enormous  number 
of  human  bones.  If  the  story  of  the  virgins  is  true,  or 
has  any  foundation  in  fact,  this  disinterment  of  their 
remains  is  little  short  of  sacrilege.  But  the  church  of  St. 
Ursula  certainly  finds  this  ghastly  exposure  to  visitors,  at 
a  fixed  price  per  head,  a  source  of  abundant  revenue. 

From  Cologne  to  Rolandseck  we  traveled  by  rail,  in 
the  evening  twilight,  passing  through  Bonn,  the  seat  of 
a  famous  university,  where  the  late  Emperor  of  Germany 
was  educated,    and  at  which  also  the  present  Emperor 
and  the  Crown  Prince  (now  William  III),  were  trained, 
as  are  all  the  male  members  of  the  House  of  Hohenzollern. 
It  was  here  that  Beethoven,  for  the  entertainment  of  a  poor 
blind  girl,  extemporized  his  wonderful  sonata  in  C  minor, 
popularly  called  the  "Moonlight  Sonata,"  and  after  its 
production,  hurried  away  to  his  room  to  put  the  compo- 
sition on  paper  for  preservation.     We  arrived  at  Roland- 
seck just  after  nightfall,  though  the  brilliant   moonlight, 
which  fell  in  floods  on  hills  and  valley,  and  river,  left  it 
anything  but   dark.     Rolandseck   is   a    delightful    little 
country  town,    pleasantly  nestled  in   a   beautiful   valley 
between  the  hills  and  the  Rhine.     All  around  it  are  vine- 
laden  hills,  in  front  of  it  the  noble  river,  whose  current 
sweeps  onward  toward  the  sea   placidly,   smoothly  like 
the  rhythm  of  some  majestic  poem. 


•     -  63  - 

Over  across  the  river,  and  to  the  left  oi  the  observer, 
rise  the  seven  mountains,  while  nearer  and  in  the  middle 
of  the  river,  on  a  little  island,  is  the  famous  convent  of 
Nonnenwerth,  and  high  on  the  opposite  hill,  which  rises 
almost   perpendicularly   from   the   water's   edge,   is   the 
ruined  arch,  all  that  remains  of  the  castle  of  Roland  the 
Brave.     After  a  supper  of  bread  and  milk,  during  which 
a  bottle  of  Niersteiner  in  some  manner  had  mysteriously- 
disappeared  from  the  writer's  table,  the  ' '  tramps ' '  started 
out   to   climb  the  hills. to  Roland's  arch.     The  evening 
was  perfect.     The  surroundings  were  enchanting.     The 
way  lay  for  a  short  distance  along  the  edge  of  the  river, 
then   suddenly  turned  to   the   left   and   began   to   wind 
around  through  vineyards,  higher  and  higher,  until  it  led 
into  the  dark  forest  high  above  the  river.     The  transition 
from  the  moonlight  to  the  shade  of  the  trees,  rendered 
the  road,  which  now  became  little  more  than   a  bridle 
path,  difficult  to  follow  ;   and  at  times  the  trees  were  so 
thick  and  the  foliage  so  dense  that  the  darkness  became 
intense.     Then,  through  an  opening  in  the  tree  tops,  a 
flood  of  mellow  light  would  fall  across  the  path,  and  a 
little  farther   on   the  intermingling  light  and  shade,  in 
fantastic  shapes  and  forms  upon  the  earth,  presented  a 
strange,  wild  scene. 

Now  we  reached  a  stone  tower,  and  began  to  realize 
that  we  had  missed  the  way.  We  were  at  the  summit  of 
the  hill,  and  the  trees  and  shrubs  were  not  so  dense  as 
farther  back,  and  aided  by  the  light  of  the  moon,  we 
scattered  off  in  parties  of  three  or  four  and  finally  arrived 
at  the  arch.     Here  is  a  beautiful  view  of  the  Rhine,  the 


-  64  - 

cloister  of  St.  Hildegund,  and  the  "Siebengebirge." 
The  place,  like  all  romantic  spots  on  the  Rhine,  has  its 
legend.  It  is  something  as  follows:  Near  here  lived 
Roland,  the  brave,  who  loved  the  beautiful  Hildegund, 
who  returned  his  affections.  The  knight,  whom  Hilde- 
gund had  promised  to  wed,  departed  to  a  distant  war. 
Soon  after  his  departure,  it  was  reported  by  one  who 
thus  sought  to  win  the  beautiful  Hildegund  from  Roland, 
that  the  latter  had  been  slain  in  battle.  The  result  little 
met  the  rival's  expectations.  Hildegund  betook  herself 
in  her  grief  to  the  cloister  Nonnenwerth  and  took  the 
veil.  When  Roland  returned,  flushed  with  victory,  he 
found  Hildegund  the  bride  of  the  church.  His  disap- 
pointment resulted  in  a  deep  melancholy,  and  he  erected 
a  castle  upon  the  hill  which  overlooks  the  cloister, 
and  there  lived  and  waited  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  his 
beloved  Hildegund.  After  years  of  painful  waiting  and 
watching,  his  constancy  was  rewarded.  One  morning 
the  convent  was  in  commotion.  A  death  had  occurred. 
Later,  in  conformity  to  the  rites  of  the  church,  a  sister, 
the  purest,  the  best,  the  most  saintly  that  had  ever  lived 
within  those  walls,  was  carried  out  to  the  little  church- 
yard behind  the  cloister.  Roland  saw  and  recognized. 
His  reward  had  come,  it  was  Hildegund.  And  now  all 
that  remains  of  the  old  castle  is  the  single  arch,  by  which 
we  stood  on  that  lovely  evening.  The  legend  may  lack 
some  essential  details,  and  is  undoubtedly  devoid  of 
literary  finish.  However,  it  is  one  of  the  best  of  the 
enormous  number  of  the  "  Legends  of  the  Rhine,"  all  of 
which  no  doubt  lose  very  much  in  the  translation  from 


-  65  - 

the  German,  which  is  so  admirably  suited  to  romances 
and  legends. 

We  found  a  much  shorter  way  down  than  the  one 
by  which  we  had  ascended,  and  again  we  stood  at  the 
edge  of  the  river.  There  is  something  indescribably 
pleasant  in  standing  for  the  first  time  in  the  vicinity  of  the 
Rhine,  drinking  in  its  beauties ;  seeing  the  craft  passing 
and  repassing  on  its  placid  surface,  which  glitters  like  a 
band  of  polished  steel  in  the  bright  moonlight ;  hearing  a 
party  of  Germans,  over  a  bottle  of  some  favorite  brand  of 
Rhine  wine,  singing  some  patriotic  song  of  the  Father- 
land with  all  the  ardent  love  of  both  song  and  country, 
which  is  the  most  predominant  trait  of  the  German 
character. 

It  was  here  in  this  delightful  Rolandseck,  that  Long- 
fellow, in  contemplation  of  this  remarkable  river,  was 
moved  to  write :  ' '  Oh,  the  pride  of  the  German  heart  in 
this  noble  river.  And  right  it  is,  for  of  all  the  rivers 
of  this  beautiful  earth,  there  is  none  so  beautiful  as  this. 
There  is  hardly  a  league  of  its  whole  course,  from  its 
cradle  in  the  snowy  Alps  to  its  grave  in  the  sands  of 
Holland,  which  boasts  not  its  peculiar  charms.  By  heav- 
ens, if  I  were  a  German,  I  would  be  proud  of  it  too  ; 
and  of  the  clustering  grapes  that  hang  about  its  temples, 
as  it  reels  onward  through  vineyards  in  a  triumphal 
march,  like  Bacchus,  crowned  and  drunken.  But  I  will 
not  try  to  describe  the  river  Rhine,  to  do  it  well,  one 
should  write  like  a  God ;  and  his  style  flow  onward  roy- 
ally, with  breaks  and  dashes,  like  the  waters  of  that 
royal  river,  and  antique,  quaint  and  Gothic  times  be 
reflected  in  it." 


©ropier  10. 

Up  the  Rhine,  St.  Goar,  German  Peasant  Life. 

From  Rolandseck  we  were  to  go  up  the  Rhine  by 
boat.  Many  people  prefer  to  make  the  trip  by  carriage 
along  the  roads  on  either  side,  which  wind  among  the 
hills  and  over  them,  disclosing  lovely  views  of  the  river, 
and  country  and  vineyards.  Others  make  the  journey 
by  foot,  and  these  are  they  who  really  are  the  wisest. 
No  exercise  is  better  than  walking ;  when  a  majestic  land- 
scape lies  before  you,  all  the  time  that  is  necessary  can  be 
taken  to  view  it ;  the  exercise  in  the  pure  air  sends  the 
blood  pulsating  to  the  remotest  cells  of  the  body,  thrilling 
and  filling  the  pedestrian  with  ecstacy  unspeakable.  The 
Rhine  is  lined  with  old  castles  and  ruins,  perched  high 
upon  the  hills  and  almost  inaccessible  rocks,  and  you  can 
climb  up  to  them,  go  through  them,  see  the  river  and  hills 
for  miles,  with  quaint  houses  and  picturesque  villages, 
where  the  people  speak  about  an  equal  amount  of  bad 
French  and  worse  German.  The  fatigue  is  not  great. 
Walking  is  a  reflex  action  of  the  muscles,  and  when  your 
attention  is  attracted  from  the  exertion,  to  the  many  queer 
houses  and  queer  customs  ;  the  conversation  that  all  this 
induces,  the  funny  incidents,  the  strange  costumes  of  the 
travelers  you  meet  by  the  way,  you  are  surprised  to  find 


-  67  - 

how  many  miles  you  leave  behind  you  without  becoming 
weary. 

But  some  one  will  say  this  kind  of  speculation  is  all 
very  nice  for  one  to  indulge  in  who  is  sitting  on  a  camp 
stool  on  board  a  boat  that  is  steaming  up  the  river.  But 
yet  it  is  true,  for  later  on,  I  did  some  walking  along  the 
Rhine  and  a  great  deal  in  Switzerland,  all  of  which  con- 
vinced me  that  I  had  missed  very  much  by  riding  up  the 
Rhine  on  a  boat. 

The  sun  shone  brightly  as  the  little  river  steamer 
swung  away  from  the  landing  with  our  party  on  board, 
our  luggage  in  a  heap  where  it  was  recklessly  thrown  from 
the  shore  to  the  lower  deck  of  the  boat  (talk  about  the 
American  baggage  smashers).  The  pleasant  town,  the 
cloister,  the  seven  mountains,  and  Roland's  arch  dropped 
to  the  rear.  The  vine-laden  hills  began  to  glide  past  us 
like  a  moving:  panorama.  With  a  habit  that  one  soon 
acquires  while  traveling,  I  turned  from  the  scenes  we  were 
leaving  to  scrutinize  the  faces  and  the  groups  of  persons 
on  board.  There  were  Germans  from  all  parts  of  the 
Fatherland,  Dutchmen  from  the  low  countries,  French- 
men who  longed  for  the  time  when  this  noble  river  should 
again  be  the  boundary  between  France  and  Germany; 
Englishmen  who  looked  at  the  river  and  hills  and  faces  of 
the  ladies  through  a  single  eye-glass,  and  Americans  who 
regarded  themselves  as  the  infinite  superiors  of  all  the  rest, 
and  who  walked  the  deck  like  kings ;  and  then  there 
were  other  Americans  who  could  see  in  every  hill  and 
vine  something  vastly  better  than  America  could  afford  ; 
who  could  recognize  nothing  as  grand  unless  at  least  ten 
centuries  of  history  were  connected  with  it,  and  who 
probably  did  not  know  ten  years  of  history  of  their  own 


—  68  — 

or  any  other  country,  andwho^e  only  knowledge  of  places 
or  events  was  confined  to  the  half  dozen  lines  to  be  found 
in  their  red-backed  guide  books. 

Oh,  it  makes  an  American's  heart beatand  swell  with 
pride  to  meet  some  of  his  American  cousins  abroad. 
They  are  so  intelligent.  They  know  so  much.  They 
have  "done"  so  many  places ;  they  are  so  "cultured," 
they  know  with  unerring  certainty  the  sizes  of  European 
capitals  and  the  names  of  the  reigning  princes  and  their 
houses.  They  have  gained  so  much  valuable  knowledge 
by  contact  with  foreign  people.  Yet  nine  out  of  ten  of 
them  are  unable  to  tell  what  kind  of  government  exists 
in  the  countries  they  have  "  done ; "  they  could  not  for 
their  miserable  lives  tell  the  difference  between  our  insti- 
tutions and  those  of  France  or  Italy.  They  can't  tell  the 
names  of  the  President's  Cabinet  (if  they  happen  to  know 
there  is  such  a  thing).  In  short,  they  are  like  a  certain 
class  of  college  graduates,  who  would  blush  to  put  the 
wrong  ictus  of  a  Greek  word  on  the  wrong  syllable,  but  for 
the  life  of  them  could  not  tell  whether  the  femur  is  a  muscle 
or  a  bone.  Why  can't  we  have  a  school  system  in  this 
country  that  will  aim,  first  of  all,  at  teaching  that  good 
sense  and  unaffected  behavior  are  the  first  elements  of 
culture? 

But  we  must  not  pay  too  much  attention  to  this  class; 
we  can  study  this  species  without  crossing  the  sea  to  do 
it.  But  there  seems  to  be  something  about  the  atmos- 
phere, or  climate,  or  scenery  across  the  sea,  that  is 
favorable  for  fully  developing  and  bringing  to  view  many 
ludicrous  phases  of  character  of  this  class  of  people.  In 
the  prow  were  a  German  and  his  wife  and  daughter,  who 
evidently  were  from   North    Germany  or  some   district 


A  Castlk  on  The  Rhine. 


-  69  - 

distant  from  the  Rhine.  They  were  dressed  in  typical 
German  costume,  paid  strict  attention  to  their  own 
business,  which  was  to  look  at  everything  through  a  huge 
pair  of  field  glasses,  make  comments  to  one  another, 
occasionally  to  express  their  delight  in  deep,  guttural 
exclamations,  and  to  pay  particular  attention  to  a  huge 
bottle  of  wine.  Another  group  attracted  my  attention. 
They  were  also  Germans,  but  evidently  of  quite  a 
different  class  from  the  first.  They  too  enjoyed  the 
beautiful  scenery,  but  were  undemonstrative  and  very 
quiet  in  their  comments.  The  two  ladies  I  took  to  be 
sisters,  and  the  gentleman  to  be  the  husband  of  one  of 
the  sisters.  This  I  fcund  later  on  to  be  the  case.  The 
sisters  had  studied  English,  and  spoke  it  quite  well,  and 
seemed  to  be  pleased  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  some  of 
our  party,  and  took  a  pardonable  pride  in  carrying  on 
the  conversation  in  our  language.  But  this  might  be 
accounted  for  by  a  sincere  desire  on  their  part  to  avoid 
hearing  their  own  language  murdered  by  our  attempts  to 
speak  German. 

It  is  really  an  interesting  study  to  observe  a  person, 
who  only  has  a  smattering  of  a  language,  attempt  on  all 
possible  occasions,  to  air  his  attainments  in  that  direction. 
And  a  pretty  spectacle  he  makes  of  himself  many  times, 
too. 

Some  of  the  most  noticeable  features  along  the  Rhine 
are  the  old  castles,  formerly  held  by  the  Robber  Knights. 
The  king's  summer  palace  is  a  beautiful  place,  occupying 
a  commanding  position;  further  up  the  river  is  the 
Marksburg  castle,  remarkable  as  being  the  only  old 
Rhine  castle  that  was  never  destroyed;  but  chief  of  all 
the  castles  on  the  Rhine  is  Ehrenbreitstein,  the  strongest 


—  7o  — 

lort  in  Germany,  and  is  opposite  Coblentz  and  the  mouth 
of  the  Mosselle  river.  The  hills  in  places  are  quite  high 
and  exceedingly  picturesque.  The  sides  are  almost 
invariably  covered  with  grape  vines.  Where  the  hills 
are  very  steep,  as  most  of  them  are,  walls  of  stone  have 
been  built,  and  soil  carried  up  in  baskets,  and  terraces 
thus  formed,  upon  which  the  vines  are  cultivated.  To 
some,  .no  doubt,  it  appears  that  the  natural  beauty  is 
marred  by  this  cultivation  on  the  hill  sides,  but  to  me 
the  vineyards  gave  to  the  scenery  an  added  charm. 

On  the  boat,  as  elsewhere,  it  is  easy  to  discriminate 
between  the  people  from  the  country  and  those  from  the 
large  towns  and  cities.  One  will  be  impressed  at  once 
with  the  existence  of  the  two  classes.  The  distinction  is 
far  greater  between  them  than  between  the  same  classes 
in  America.  The  men  in  the  larger  places  are  selfish, 
boorish,  and  impolite.  Those  in  the  country  and  smaller 
towns  are  quite  the  reverse. 

Everywhere  is  to  be  seen  the  influence  of  Germany's 
military  rule.  It  is  infectious.  The  civil  authority,  what 
little  there  is,  takes  on  a  military  exactness  and  firmness. 
Authority  and  restraint  are  everywhere  apparent.  It  is 
said  that  the  absence  of  these  in  our  country  strikes  the 
foreign  visitor  as  the  greatest  peculiarity  of  our 
government.  And  having  seen  the  display  of  power  and 
authority  by  the  officers  there,  I  do  not  wonder  at  the  fact. 
At  different  times  I  saw  men  under  arrest,  and  their 
treatment  was  brutal  in  the  extreme.  Before  trial,  they 
were  treated  as  guilty.  The  conduct  of  the  officers  is 
overbearing  and  disgusting  to  our  sense  of  fair  play.  Ah, 
how  many  Americans  realize  the  privileges  which  in  this 
country  are  our  inheritance. 


—  7i  — 

The  custom  of  feeing  everybody  for  the  slightest 
service,  is  in  Germany  the  most  abominable  that  exists 
in  Europe.  You  ask  a  chance  pedestrian  in  the  street  to 
tell  you  the  way  to  any  place,  and  he  expects  a  fee  for  the 
information.  It  is  not  confined  to  servants,  but  hotel 
proprietors  and  officers  on  the  boats  and  elsewhere,  expect 
a  fee  for  every  trifling  service.  Fees  that  a  negro  porter 
in  an  American  sleeping  car  would  not  think  of  asking  or 
accepting,  are  clamorously  demanded.  At  any  rate  the 
porter  of  a  sleeping  car  will  await  the  end  of  the  journey, 
and  then  will  not  directly  ask  you  for  a  fee,  but  over 
there  you  must  pay  cash  for  every  act  or  move  made  in 
your  behalf.  They  won't  even  trust  you  to  the  end  of 
the  journey.  They  have  no  hesitation  or  delicacy  in 
reminding  you  that  they  expect  a  gratuity.  ' '  Trinkgeld, ' ' 
is  the  music  of  the  country. 

As  you  come  out  from  dinner,  a  man  whom  you  take 
for  a  count  or  a  prince  in  full  dress,  politely  takes  your 
hat,  turns  it  around  once  or  twice  in  his  deft  fingers,  and 
with  a  low  bow  hands  it  to  you.  Somewhat  surprised, 
you  take  your  hat  into  your  own  possession  and  attempt 
to  pass  on.  The  "prince"  gently  detains  you  and  says  : 
"Excuse  me,  but  you  have  forgotten  me?"  You  rack 
your  brain  and  strain  your  memory  to  recall  where  you 
ever  met  a  prince  or  an  earl,  and  failing,  you  reply: 
"Certainly  my  dear  sir,  you  must  be  mistaken,  I  do  not 
remember  that  I  ever  had  the  pleasure  of  an  introduction 
to  your  lordship."  Then  again  you  tiy  to  pass.  You 
think  you  have  risen  to  the  height  of  the  occasion,  and 
have  triumphed.  But  before  you  can  realize  your  victory, 
he  is  directly  before  you,  and  in  a  modulated  voice  is 
saying:  "Trinkgeld."     It   is  no  use,  you  can't  escape, 


—  72  — 

and  so  you  slip  a  piece  ol  silver  into  his  palm,  and 
stopping  within  sight  and  hearing,  await  the  exit  from 
the  dining  room  of  some  friend,  who  meets  with  the  same 
ignominious  failure,  in  which  you  take  a  sort  of  savage 
delight.  Now,  why  should  this  fellow  have  a  fee?  He 
has  taken  advantage  of  you.  You  unsuspectingly  left 
your  hat  where  he  could  get  at  it,  and  when  you  come 
out  he  hands  it  to  you.  By  stretching  out  your  arm  a 
foot  or  so  you  could  have  taken  it  from  the  rack  yourself. 
He  has  not  aided  you  in  the  least.  He  has  simply 
robbed  you,  and  the  custom  of  the  country  upholds  him 
in  the  extortion. 

On  the  boat,  the  officers  strut  about  like  turkey-cocks, 
and  delight  to  show  their  authority.  On  passing  another 
boat,  the  officers  of  each  greet  each  other  with  very 
elaborate  military  salutes.  If  one  is  in  the  least  irritable, 
or  "quick  tempered,"  he  had  better  walk  than  take  a 
boat  up  the  Rhine.  Usually  he  will  find  it  far  less  labor 
to  walk,  than  to  hold  his  temper  on  the  boat.  01  the 
two  kinds  of  exertion,  walking  is  to  be  preferred.  In 
riding  from  Rolandseck  to  St.  Goar,  an  ordinary  individ- 
ual, with  the  faults  common  to  humanity,  feels  like  fighting 
the  whole  boat's  crew,  jointly  and  severally,  about  forty 
times.  Dinner  is  sure  to  be  ready  just  when  the  boat 
is  in  the  most  romantic  and  interesting  section  in  the 
river.  You  must  miss  the  scenery  or  the  dinner  .  You 
generally  let  the  scenery  go  and  swear  afterward  because 
you  didn't  let  the  dinner  go,  irrespective  of  the  merits  of 
the  scenery.  You  sit  down  at  the  table,  where  you  can't 
see  anything  but  the  person  opposite  you  or  at  your  side, 
and  wait  an  hour  for  the  waiter  to  bring  you  soup  with 
an  unpronounceable  French  name,  which  you  won't  eat  if 


—  73  — 

you  have  any  respect  for  yourself;  and  with  almost  equal 
intervals  between  the  courses,  which  are  little  better  than 
the  soup,  you  finally  get  through  with  the  misery,  and 
finish  with  a  bottle  of  sour  wine  ;  and  when  you  come  up 
on  deck,  and  those  who  did  not  go  down  to  dinner, 
provokingly  tell  you  what  a  glorious  bit  of  scenery  you 
have  missed ;  what  a  splendid  old  castle,  and  what 
grand  hills  are  just  around  the  last  bend  of  the  river. 
And  then,  your  discontent  is  increased  by  the  fact  that 
you  can't  take  your  usual  after-dinner  smoke.  Of  course 
you  can  buy  a  cigar,  and  German  etiquette  permits  you 
to  smoke  it  in  the  presence  of  the  ladies,  and  all  that,  but 
unfortunately  lor  you,  or  fortunately,  according  to  the  time 
and  place,  you  learned  to  smoke  in  America  with  cigars 
worthy  of  the  name  ;  and  to  smoke  a  German  cigar — 
Heaven  preserve  us ,  it  is  worse  than  the  dinner!  There 
is  only  one  consolation,  a  pint  bottle  of  Rhine  wine  only 
costs  three-quarters  of  a  mark,  or  seventy-five  pfennig 
(about  eighteen  cents),  so  instead  of  a  cigar,  you  can 
drink  another  bottle  of— vinegar.  It  is  hardly  proper  to 
call  it  wine  or  vinegar  ;  it  is  pure  juice  of  the  grape,  with 
no  more  alcohol  in  a  bottle  of  it  than  there  is  in  a  single 
dish  of  canned  cherries,  as  they  are  put  up  in  this  country. 
It  is  not  intoxicating  to  any  extent,  and  is  pure.  It  is  so 
cheap  that  there  is  no  inducement  to  adulterate  it,  for 
the  material  which  would  be  used  in  its  adulteration 
would  cost  more  than  the  grapes  to  make  an  equal 
amount  of  wine.  And  when  one  looks  about  him  at  the 
vine-clad  hills,  he  does  not  wonder  at  it. 

Yet,  in  spite  of  all  these  little  annoyances,  the  ride  up 
the  Rhine  is  enjoyable.  In  some  places  the  current  is 
quite  swift  and  the  boat  goes  slowly.     In  other  places  the 


—  74  — 

river  is  shallow  and  wings  of  masonry  are  built  out  into 
the  river  to  throw  the  water  to  the  center  and  thus 
deepen  the  channel.  The  heavy-laden  freight  boats 
make  their  way  up  the  river  in  a  way  quite  novel  to  us 
at  least.  In  places  where  the  current  is  quite  rapid,  a 
heavy  chain  made  of  links  that  will  fit  the  cogs  of  a  cog- 
wheel, is  laid  on  the  bottom  of  the  river,  for  miles,  and 
fastened  at  the  ends.  On  the  deck  of  the  boat  is  a  large 
cog-wheel  over  which  this  chain  is  carried.  The  engine 
turns  this  wheel  and  the  boat  is  drawn  along  against  the 
current.  The  noise  of  a  Mississippi  river  boat  is  as  noth- 
ing compared  with  these  boats.  The  chain  rattles  over 
the  cog-wheel  like  seven  furies,  and  the  noise  echoes  and 
re-echoes  among  the  hills,  while  the  boat  wheezes  and 
groans  and  puffs  like  a  huge  monster  sorely  afflicted  with 
asthma. 

St.  Goar  is  a  delightful  little  town  in  a  romantic  and 
beautiful  spot  on  the  Rhine.  I  shall  always  remember  it 
most  kindly.  My  visit  there  was  one  of  the  pleasantest 
in  Europe.  The  people  are  courteous,  kind,  obliging  in 
every  way,  and  presented  a  pleasing  contrast  to  those 
most  generally  found  in  South  Germany.  The  children 
invariably  uncovered  their  heads,  or  courtesied,  as  they 
met  us  on  the  streets.  We  could  not  help  feeling  the 
contrast  between  these  children  and  those  of  an  average 
country  village  in  America.  Yet  I  am  not  sure  that  the 
contrast  is  altogether  favorable  to  the  German  youth. 
The  conduct  of  the  American  youth  is  the  result  of 
natural  animal  spirits,  unrestrained  by  authority  and 
permitted,  if  not  encouraged,  by  a  national  sentiment  of 
freedom  and  liberty.  The  German  youth  has  the  same 
animal   spirit,  the  same  joyous  nature,    and   the   same 


—  75  — 

innocence  and  simplicity  of  childhood,  and  the  same 
tendency  to  an  exuberant  manifestation  of  his  natural 
propensities  ;  but  more,  the  national  sentiment  of  restraint, 
and  the  peculiar  influence  of  the  priest,  crystalized  by  a 
half  century  of  existence,  have  tamed  his  nature,  and 
rendered  a  mere  machine  out  of  what  is,  in  America,  a 
happy,  free,  joyous  human  being.  One  cannot  fail  to 
notice  with  what  reverence  a  priest  or  a  clergyman  ol 
any  denomination  is  treated.  The  men  always  tip  their 
hats  to  them  and  make  way  for  them  on  the  streets  in 
a  manner  that  seemed  inexpressibly  strange  to  us. 

Along  the  river  at  St.  Goar  runs  a  beautiful  street 
with  very  fine  buildings  on  one  side,  while  between  the 
street  and  river  bank  lies  a  long  garden  with  shrubs,  trees 
and  walks.  Stretching  down  the  middle  of  the  street  are 
two  rows  of  linden  trees  about  twenty  feet  apart,  so 
trimmed  that  the  tops  spread  out,  each  touching  its 
neighbors  and  forming  a  perfect  canopy  that  shades  the 
entire  street  at  all  hours  of  the  day.  Its  counterpart,  on 
a  larger  and  grander  scale,  is  the  "Unter  den  Linden" 
in  Berlin.  The  town  is  long,  narrow,  and  semi-circular. 
It  occupies  the  level  ground  between  the  river  and  the 
high  hills  which,  but  a  short  distance  back  from  the 
stream,  rise  abruptly  to  a  height  of  two  hundred  feet  or 
more.  Almost  directly  opposite  the  town  on  the  other 
bank  of  the  river  is  St.  Goarhausen  lying  almost  directly 
beneath  one  of  the  three  old  castles  found  in  this  vicinity. 
I  crossed  the  Rhine  in  the  afternoon,  to  climb  up  to  a 
ruined  castle  and  to  take  a  walk  [through  the  country. 
Having  climbed  up  and  inspected  the  castle  whose  ap- 
pearance creates  a  strong  suspicion  that  it  has  been  con- 
structed in  very  modern  times  to  attract  tourists  ;  and 


-  76  - 

having  climbed  down  again,  I  started,  in  company  with  a 
number  of  our  party,  to  see  a  portion  of  the  country  and 
its  people,  which  should  be  off  the  beaten  track  of 
tourists. 

We  followed  a  delightful  road,  which  winds  among 
hills,  that  rise  on  either  side  from  ioo  to  300  feet.  We 
finally  took  a  path  up  the  side  of  a  small  mountain, 
rather  steep,  but  easily  accessible,  and  passed  through  a 
beautiful  grove,  and  emerged  upon  a  high  plateau  which 
was  then  under  cultivation.  Passing  on  toward  the 
north,  we  had  a  view  of  a  landscape  as  lovely  as  the  eye 
ever  rested  upon.  It  was  not  as  grand  and  sublime  as 
our  American  mountain  views  are,  but  it  was  exceedingly 
beautiful.  On  our  right  was  a  valley;  across  this  rose  a 
high  hill  sloping  gently  and  covered  with  intermingled 
woods  and  fields  and  vineyards.  On  this  side  the  valley. 
grain  was  waving  in  the  wind.  On  our  left  the  plateau 
stretched  away  to  a  considerable  distance  covered  with 
growing  crops.  There  seems  not  to  be  a  foot  of  land 
anywhere  that  is  idle.  Every  inch  is  cultivated;  even 
the  old  drill  grounds  and  open  courts  of  the  ruined  castles 
are  cultivated  to  bear  vines;  possibly  an  improvement 
over  their  former  use.  We  walked  on  at  an  easy  pace, 
and  a  few  miles  back  from  the  river  came  to  a  village  or 
"  Dorf. "  Here  we  began  to  see  the  characteristics  of 
German  life.  The  streets  are  laid  out  very  irregularly, 
and  apparently  without  any  design  as  to  direction,  width 
or  grade.  The  houses  are  of  various  materials,  though 
all  are  of  the  same  general  style  of  construction.  Some 
are  of  pressed  brick  between  the  timbers,  some  are  plas- 
tered on  the  outside  to  resemble  stone ;  all  have  projecting 
roofs,  and  all,  I  believe  without  exception,   have  a  room 


—  77  — 

under  the  same  roof  for  a  cow  stable.  Nothing  separ- 
ates this  stable  from  the  dwelling  rooms  but  an  ordinary- 
partition.  This  is  done  for  economy.  In  the  winter  the 
heat  from  the  body  of  the  animal  contributes  considera- 
bly to  the  warmth  of  the  dwelling,  and  besides  the  prox- 
imity of  the  stable  gives  an  opportunity  for  economizing 
time  in  attending  to  the  care  of  the  cow  or  oxen.  An 
American  farmer  would  consider  it  a  great  hardship,  no 
doubt,  to  be  compelled  to  resort  to  economy  in  saving 
in  fuel  what  the  heat  of  the  animals  would  contribute  to 
keep  off  the  winter's  cold;  but  yet  it  is  a  necessary  econ- 
omy with  these  people,  for  as  small  as  is  the  amount 
saved  by  this  means,  it  is  no  inconsiderable  sum  to  them. 
But  there  are  some  habits  and  customs  which  I  think 
even  their  poverty  will  hardly  justify.  In  this  village,  as 
I  afterward  observed  also  in  many  others,  the  manure 
and  refuse  from  these  stables  are  thrown  out  in  a  heap 
about  six  or  eight  feet  from  the  house,  and  almost  always 
directly  in  front  of  the  kitchen  door;  and  in  many  cases, 
a  trench  is  dug  at  the  side  of  the  heap  of  manure  so  that 
the  water  that  falls  during  the  rains  may  filter  through 
the  pile  and  collect  in  the  trench,  thus  extracting  the 
strength  of  the  manure  in  a  liquid  form  which  is  dipped 
up  into  barrels  and  hauled  out  of  the  village  to  the  farms 
and  sprinkled  over  them.  But  often  a  trench  full  of  this 
kind  of  fluid  is  seen  standing  but  a  few  feet  from  the 
open  door  with  a  hot  summer  sun  shining  directly  upon 
it,  creating  an  odor  quite  the  reverse  of  "New  Mown 
Hay." 

This  custom  may  find  some  excuse  in  two  facts 
which  we  do  not  experience  here.  i.  The  farmers  do 
not  live  on  the  little  patches  of  ground  that  they  till,  but 


-  78  - 

they  collect  in  villages  where  they  have  no  ground  but 
just  enough  upon  which  to  set  the  house.  2.  The  land 
has  been  under  cultivation  for  hundreds  of  years,  and 
its  productiveness  must  be  stimulated  to  its  utmost  capac- 
ity, and  hence  the  best  form  of  a  fertilizer  must  be  used. 
One  cannot  help  but  be  strongly  impressed  with  the  dif- 
ference in  the  conditions  between  European  and  Ameri- 
can farmers. 

When  we  reached  this  little  farming  village,  we 
had  been  walking  for  a  couple  ot  hours  and  we  took 
this  opportunity  to  refresh  ourselves.  We  went  into  a 
house  and  asked  for  some  milk  to  drink.  The  peasant 
woman  kindly  brought  us  the  desired  milk  and  also 
some  rye  bread  and  cheese.  The  woman  carried  a  jug 
and  some  huge  glasses,  while  her  daughter  carried  the 
bread  and  cheese.  The  milk  was  delicious,  and  the  rye 
bread  was  about  the  same  as  all  rye  bread  is,  but  God 
save  my  countrymen,  one  and  all,  from  a  taste  or  even  a 
smell  of  home  made  German  cheese.  It  will  be  interest- 
ing to  know  that  this  fare  of  which  we  partook,  in  addi- 
tion to  large  quantities  of  beer,  is  the  almost  exclusive 
diet  of  these  peasants.     Meat  is  a  luxury. 

Before  going  among  these  people  the  writer  had 
seen  a  statement  in  the  Century  Magazine,  that  a  farmer 
with  an  ordinary  sized  family,  in  that  country,  lived  ior 
a  year  upon  what  would  actually  cost  about  $70.  It  then 
seemed  incredible  that  such  could  be  the  case,  but  now, 
based  upon  my  own  observation  and  experience,  my 
opinion  is  that  many  of  them  come  considerably  below 
that  estimate.  The  American  housewife  who  buys  a  soup 
bone  for  twenty  cents,  and  with  but  little  additional  cost 
makes  a  good  meal  therefrom,  congratulates  herself  upon 


—  79  — 

her  economy.     But  the  economical  and  thrifty  German 
woman,  with  a  ten  cent  soup  bone,  makes  a  meal  of  soup, 
another  of  the  meat  pared  from  the  bone,  and  then  takes 
a  hatchet,  pounds  the  bone  into  pieces,  again  boils  it  and 
makes  a  third  meal  of  better  and  more  nutritious  soup 
than  the  first.     Such  is  the  difference  between  American 
and   German   economy.       If   we  would    practice    from 
choice  the  same  economy  that  I  have  seen  practiced  in 
Europe  from  necessity,   we  would  be  the  richest  people 
in  the  world,  and  the  question  of  pauperism  would  be 
well  on  toward  its  solution  in  this  country  for  many  years 
to  come.     Why,  many  working  people  here  have  spent 
more  money  in  one  year  for  tobacco  than  whole  families 
have  for  their  entire  living  for  the  same  length  of  time  in 
many  districts  of  Europe.    But  I  do  not  want  to  create  the 
impression  that  it  is  so  everywhere  over  there.     In  some 
places  certain  classes  and  guilds  get  good  wages  and  live 
quite  well.     Yet  the  wages  only  suffice  for  an  actual  living 
and  they  are  also  compelled  to  be  economical  in  their 
habits.     Nowhere  is  seen  that  characteristic  and  unjusti- 
fiable extravagance  that  is  common  in  this  country.  Then 
again  they  save  very  much  in  dress,  for  they  do  not,  as  a 
rule,  follow  the  changing  styles  and  fashions  which  every- 
body observes  in  America.     These  farmers,   for  instance, 
wear  a  baggy  suit  of  stout  cloth  that  will  wear  for  several 
years,  and  the  idea  of  being  out  of  style  never  enters 
their  heads.     A  dark  blue  cap  is  worn  which  often  looks 
as  if  it  had   seen  service  in  the  same  family  for  several 
generations.      Then    among   mechanics   and  tradesmen 
and  the  different  classes   each  have  a  peculiar  mode  of 
dress  and  none  of  them  attempt  to  copy  after  the  rich 
and   aristocratic   classes.     In  this  particular  the  lines  of 


—  80  — 

society  can  be  accurately  traced  and  one  can  readily  see 
how  powerful  is  ' '  caste. ' '  Now  in  America  we  cannot 
tell  what  a  man's  position  or  wealth  is  by  his  dress.  The 
poorer  people  often  dress  the  better.  Many  of  our  mer- 
chant's daughters  dress  in  the  style  and  fashion  of  the 
period  more  carefully  and  precisely,  and  with  more 
costly  materials,  than  a  countess  or  marchioness  of  Eu- 
rope. But  I  do  not  find  fault  with  this,  I  only  cite  the 
fact  to  show  how  much  better  our  condition  is  than  that 
of  the  people  of  Europe. 

The  costume  of  the  German  peasant  woman  is  pecul- 
iar. In  the  field  or  about  the  house,  she  is  invariably 
bare-headed;  her  hair  is  combed  straight  back,  and  one, 
sometimes  two,  plain  braids  at  the  back.  She  wears  a 
white  waist-coat  with  a  short,  dark  colored  skirt  hung 
from  the  shoulder  and  reaching  about  to  the  knee,  and 
heavy  cow-hide  shoes  with  soles  a  half-inch  or  more  thick, 
and  rilled  with  iron  pegs  or  nails.  In  form  they  are  stout 
and  robust;  in  the  cheeks,  browned  by  exposure  to  the 
sun,  is  the  flush  of  perfect  health  such  as  comes  only 
from  frugal  diet  and  hard  physical  labor.  That  they  are 
far  happier  in  their  simple  life,  than  the  butterflies  devel- 
oped in  the  hot-houses  of  fashion  and  the  namby-pamby 
so-called  aristocracy  of  either  Europe  or  America,  I  have 
not  the  slightest  doubt.  Yet,  after  all,  I  should  not  like 
to  see  the  women  of  my  country  in  such  a  position  as 
that  occupied  by  these  peasant  women.  I  believe  the 
woman's  proper  place  is  the  home;  where,  if  she  will,  she 
can  transform  the  cares  of  this  world  into  the  delights 
of  heaven;  her  place  is  not  in  the  field,  the  mill  or  the 
factory.  Nor  is  it  in  the  dissipation  of  what  is  called 
' '  society. ' ' 


—  81  — 

As  we  started  on  along  a  road  leading  to  the  north 
and  still  farther  from  the  Rhine,  we  overtook  one  of  these 
women  driving  an  ox-team.  She  was  going  to  the  field 
after  hay,  and  the  rack  being  empty,  we  asked  and  ob- 
tained permission  for  the  ladies  to  ride.  They  all 
mounted  to  the  hay-rack,  the  girl  cracked  her  whip,  the 
oxen  started  on,  and  a  merry  ride  it  was,  accompanied 
by  jest  and  merry  peals  of  laughter.  Several  of  the 
young  men  of  our  party  showed  a  decided  tendency  to 
walk  ahead  and  to  try  to  assist  in  managing  the  staid 
and  sober-looking  oxen.  But  this  is  not  to  be  wondered 
at,  when  we  remember  that  the  driver  was  a  pretty, 
red-cheeked  peasant  girl,  all  the  more  attractive  by  reason 
ot  her  peculiar  costume.  It  afforded  considerable  amuse- 
ment when  the  young  minister  of  our  party  was  detected 
leaving  his  photograph  in  the  fair  driver's  possession, 
which  she  accepted  and  kept  with  a  readiness  that  showed 
she  regarded  it  as  a  rare  curiosity.  But  soon  we  arrived 
at  the  fields  where  the  girl  was  going  after  a  load  of  hay, 
and  the  ladies  dismounted,  good-byes  were  said,  we 
trudged  on,  and  the  oxen,  the  wagon,  and  the  pretty 
girl  turned  into  a  hay  field  where  each  had  an  office  to 
perform,  the  girl  to  pitch  up  a  load  of  hay,  the  wagon  to 
carry  it,  and  the  oxen  to  pull  it,  and  let  us  hope,  finally 
to  eat  some  of  it.  As  we  walked  on,  we  frequently 
looked  back  and  we  saw  her  drive  the  oxen  into  the 
meado.v,  with  a  skill  and  dexterity  that  only  comes  from 
long  practice,  and  as  we  disappeared  from  the  girl's 
view  behind  a  low  hill,  she  was  pitching  the  fragrant  hay 
upon    the    wagon.      It   was   a   characteristic    scene  and 

6 


—    82    — 

afforded  a  picture  that,  once  seen,  will  not  soon  be  for- 
gotten. The  women  are  usually  beasts  of  burden,  or 
the  "best  man"  in  the  fields;  and^that  they  are  superb 
ox-drivers,  I  had  ocular  and  ample  demonstration.  On 
every  side  as  we  walked  on,  we  saw  women  working  in 
the  fields  and  vineyards.  The  absence  of  male  laborers 
in  the  same  places  is  quite  noticeable.  An  hour's  walk 
brought  us  to  another  village  very  much  like  the  other, 
but  larger.  In  this  village  we  met  a  clergyman  of  the 
German  Reformed  Church,  a  very  good  man  and  exceed- 
ingly pleasant.  He  invited  us  into  the  house,  but,  on 
account  ol  our  number,  we  declined  the  invitation;  and 
he  then  asked  us  to  come  into  the  garden,  which  we  did, 
and  found  it  the  most  charming  and  queerly  kept  of 
anything  of  the  kind  we  had  ever  seen.  In  form  it  was 
a  parallelogram.  On  our  right  as  we  entered  was  a  de- 
lightfully cool  summer-house,  further  on  a  hard,  smooth 
walk  that  led  to  the  right  and  left.  The  vegetables  were 
few,  while  roses  and  various  kinds  ot  flowers  were 
abundant.  The  rose  bushes  were  trimmed  as  trees  and 
supported  by  stakes,  so  similar  in  form,  looks  and  size, 
to  the  trunk  of  the  "  rose  tree"  as  to  be  scarcely  noticea- 
ble. The  distance  from  the  ground  to  the  branches  was 
about  five  to  eight  feet.  The  top  of  the  trees  was  almost 
a  perfect  ball  of  fragrant  roses.  The  queer  combination 
of  vegetables,  flowers  and  shrubs  gave  a  charming  effect. 
Our  host  evidently  knew  from  our  looks  that  we  were 
prohibitionists,  for  he  left  us  for  a  few  minutes  and  re- 
turned with  his  compliments  in  the  way  oi  some  fine 
cigars  instead  of  wine,  which  is  ordinarily  served  upon 
such  occasions.     He  apologized  to  the  ladies  for  being  at 


-  83  - 

the  time  unable  to  furnish  them  refreshments,  and  we 
thanked  him  for  the  cigars  which  we  really  enjoyed,  and 
now  remember  with  pleasure  as  being  the  only  decent 
cigars  that  we  found  in  the  Fatherland.  Our  reverend 
host  was  a  well  educated  man,  profuse  in  hospitality  and 
very  gallant.  If  you  want  a  compliment,  look  to  a  well- 
educated  German.  To  each  of  us  who  could  say  but 
little  to  him  in  his  native  language,  he  said:  "You  speak 
very  good  German;  were  not  your  parents  natives  of  this 
country?"  And  when  we  replied  in  the  negative  he 
affected  surprise. 

Our  good  friend  accompanied  us  a  part  of  the  way 
back,  showing  us  across  some  fields  and  pointing  out  the 
way  down  the  mountain  side  to  a  road  in  the  valley, 
so  that  we  might  return  to  the  Rhine  by  another  and 
different  route  than  that  by  which  we  had  come.  We 
scrambled  down  to  the  valley,  which  we  reached  when 
twilight  began  to  fall.  The  walk  back  was  quite  enjoya- 
ble. The  valley  is  narrow,  almost  a  canon;  the  stream 
by  the  roadside  is  clear  and  rapid.  The  hillsides  were  cov- 
ered mostly  with  their  natural  verdure.  We  passed  a 
quaint  old  water  mill,  an  occasional  collection  of  sombre 
looking  houses,  and  an  old  castle  perched  high  upon 
the  rocks,  the  effect  of  the  whole  scene  being  heightened 
by  the  semi-twilight,  and  as  we  proceeded,  beautified  by 
the  clear-moon  light.  A  brisk  walk  of  two  hours  and  a 
half  brought  us  to  the  river  again.  A  ferryman  was  found 
who  rowed  us  across  the  Rhine,  and  another  short  walk 
brought  us  again  to  our  hotel,  and  shortly  we  could 
have  been  seen  partaking  of  a  substantial  meal  at 
10:30  p.  m. 


©}}<apter  II. 

The  Rhinefels,  A  Prussian  School,  Wiesbaden. 

We  slept  well  that  night  after  our  tramp,  and  had 
breakfast  at  seven  o'clock  the  next  morning,  after  which 
we  paid  a  visit  to  the  Rhinefels,  one  of  the  most  cele- 
brated castles  of  the  "Rhine  and  about  fifteen  minutes 
walk  from  our  hotel.  In  Germany,  as  in  all  other  parts 
of  Europe,  distance  is  expressed  by  the*number  of  min- 
utes or  hours  required  to  travel  it.  If  you  ask  the  dis- 
tance to  any  place,  thejreply  is  "  one  hour,  "  or  "twenty 
minutes,"  and  so  on.  And  so  the  Rhinefels  is  "fifteen 
minutes"  from  our  hotel.  The  way  leads  up  an  easy 
ascent,  curving  gently  to  the  right,  and  lined  with  trees 
arid  on  the  right  hand  side  a  stone  fence  with  here  and 
there,  under  the  trees,  seats  upon  which  to  rest.  The 
entrance  to  the  castle  is  up  ,a  short  flight  of  steps.  The 
castle  itself  is  very  large  and  very  old.  It  was 
built  in  1245  and  before  its  destruction,  was  one  of  the 
strongest  on  the  Rhine.  It  stands  400  feet  above  the 
river  and  is  admirably  situatedjbr  defense.  The  ancient 
outer  walls  and  defenses  are  quite  extensive  and  enclose 
about  ten  acres  of  ground.  At  the  entrance  the  visitor 
goes  into  an  open  court  at  the  east  of  the  palace;  between 
this  court  and  the  palace  walls  is  a  very  deep  depression 
from  which  he  goes  into  the  lower  rooms.  Turning  to 
the  left,  he  comes  to  the.wine  cellar  with  its  high  vaulted 


-  85  - 

roof  and  a  capacity  for  wine  enough  to  supply  all  Prus- 
sia. Coming  out  of  the  wine  cellar,  the  visitor  ap- 
proaches the  dwelling  rooms  and  chapel  at  the  northwest 
corner  of  the  castle.  Passing  through  these  and  turning 
to  the  right,  he  finds  himself  on  a  high  eminence,  look- 
ing down  a  valley  to  the  south,  in  which  ten  water  mills 
are  visible.  Retracing  his  steps  a  little  way,  and  going 
to  the  left  he  passes  up  another  flight  of  stone  steps  and 
stands  upon  the  highest  tower  of  the  castle,  and  fully  ioo 
leet  above  the  surface  of  the  rock  upon  which  the  castle 
is  built.  Here  is  a  magnificent  view  of  the  Rhine  and 
surrounding  country.  Boats  are  seen  passing  up  and 
down  the  river;  the  town  lies  far  below,  over  across  the 
water  and  against  the  hills  lies  St.  Goarhausen  with  a 
silvery  sheet  of  water  in  the  foreground.  The  outer  and 
inner  walls  of  the  castle  are  plainly  in  view,  showing  how 
well  it  was  built  for  defense.  This  castle  was  never  taken 
but  twice  in  its  history;  once  by  surprise,  and  once  by 
starving  the  garrison  into  surrender.  On  both  occasions 
it  was  captured  by  the  French.  It  is  now  the  property 
of  the  German  Emperor. 

Descending  from  the  tower  the  visitor  enters  the 
underground  apartments.  Tunnels,  with  secret  outlets, 
lead  from  these  to  the  valleys  far  away.  We  traversed 
as  much  as  a  quarter  of  a  mile  of  subterranean  passages 
and  emerged  upon  the  outside  of  the  west  wall  some  two 
hundred  feet  above  the  river.  We  clambered  up  the 
side,  entered  the  enclosure  again,  entered  another  tunnel 
and  came  out  into  an  open  court  surrounded  by  high 
stone  walls.     We  passed  into  another  tunnel,  turned  to 


—  86  — 

the  right  and  came  into  a  long  narrow  room  from  the  bot- 
tom of  which  six  well-like  openings  go  straight  down 
thirty-two  feet  to  the  dungeons  below.  There  is  no 
light  in  these  dungeons.  They  are  hewed  out  of  solid 
rock  and  the  only  opening  into  them  is  the  one  leading 
to  them  from  the  bottom  of  this  room.  Only  prisoners 
condemned  to  death  were  put  into  these  prisons.  They 
were  lowered  by  ropes  and  left  to  die  of  starvation. 
From  this  room  we  go  up  a  flight  of  stone  steps,  along 
a  passage  into  the  court  which  we  first  entered,  pass 
out  and  away  from  Rhinefels,  the  oldest,  strongest,  and 
and  most  interesting  castle  of  the  Rhine. 

Arriving  in  the  village  again,  two  of  us  concluded  to 
visit  the  village  schools.  We  were  very  much  disap- 
pointed to  find  school  dismissed  for  the  morning  session. 
Our  ramble  through  the  castle  had  been  longer  than  we 
thought.  However,  we  met  the  master,  or  principal 
we  would  call  him,  who  showed  us  over  the  building  and 
with  whom  we  had  a  long  conversation  on  the  Prussian 
system  of  education.  He  invited  us  into  his  dwelling 
apartments,  in  the  school  building,  and  sat  down  with  us 
for  a  social  chat  on  school  matters,  telling  us  much  of 
their  system  and  asking  much  concerning  ours. 

It  certainly  would  have  amused  a  spectator  to  hear 
us  talk.  Part  of  the  time  he  tried  to  talk  English  and 
part  of  the  time  we  tried  to  talk  German,  but  he  soon 
gave  up  the  English  in  despair  and  from  that  time  on, 
we  talked  in  his  language,  and  understood  him  quite  well, 
while  he  seemed  to  have  no  difficulty  in  understanding  us, 
much  to  our  surprise.  This  is  what  we  learned.  The 
country  is  divided  into  districts  and,  a  chief  officer  has 


-  87  - 

charge  of  each.  Each  district  seems  to  be  entirely- 
independent  of  all  the  'others.  There  is  a  chief  educa- 
tional officer  for  the  empire,  but  he  seems  not  to  have  much 
more  connection  with  the  schools,  than  does  our  Com- 
missioner of  Education  at  Washington.  We  hear  much 
in  America  about  the  "uniformity"  of  the  German 
school  system ;  but  the  only  uniformity  that  really  exists 
is  that  it  is  everywhere  compulsory.  Beginning  at  six 
years  of  age,  the  pupil  must  attend  until  he  is  fourteen 
years  old.  The  government  has  officers  to  pursue  truants 
and  recurn  them  to  school,  to  punish  them  and  to  fine 
the  parents,  because  without  the  latter's  knowledge  the 
child  ran  away  from  a  school  room  so  devoid  of  attrac- 
tions and  pleasant  surroundings  that  he  could  scarcely 
be  blamed  for  running  away  from  it.  For  laziness,  inat- 
tention and  neglect  of  duty  in  the  school  room,  or  misbe- 
havior of  any  kind  while  at  school,  the  master  punishes 
the  child,  greatly  to  the  master's  enjoyment  I  think, 
judging  from  the  gleeful  chuckle  with  which  he  supple- 
mented this  part  of  the  information  which  he  gave  us 
and  the  involuntary  glance  toward  a  large  bundle  of 
switches  which  occupied  a  convenient  place  on  the  wall. 
The  benches  upon  which  the  children  sit  in  this  school 
are  long  wooden  seats,  about  twenty  feet  in  length,  the 
seat  being  very  narrow  and  the  back  very  straight.  On 
the  wall,  near  the  master's  desk,  hung  a  violin  and  a 
crucifix;  the  former  he  uses  to  lead  the  singing  in  the 
opening  exercises,  the  latter  he  did  not  see  fit  to  explain 
to  us,  but  undoubtedly  it  has  been  placed  there  by  sOme 
well-meaning  priest  for  the  improvement  of  the  moral 
and  spiritual  nature  of  the  children. 


—  88  — 

One  who  does  not  inspect  these  schools  for  himself, 
and  depends  upon  what  the  people  say,  or  even  upon 
what  the    Germans    in    America,    tell   him    about    the 
Prussian  system,   is  apt  to  have  a  much   more  exalted 
opinion  of  the  system  than  it  deserves.     Text  books  are 
not  uniform;   in   many  cases  they  are  not    used  at  all; 
information    is   poured   into   the  pupil   as   water   into  a 
pitcher.     The  child  becomes,   sometimes,   well-informed 
but  not  educated.     The  mind  is  not  trained  to  original 
thought;  originality,   activity,   mental   power,  growth  of 
the  mind  are  secondary  matters.     Information    is  first. 
There  is  little  to  inspire  the  pupil  to  original  thought, 
and  he  learns  by  rote  much  as  a  parrot  does.      In  the 
Reale  Schule,   Gymnasia  and  University,    it  may  be  far 
different  and  I  have  no  doubt  that  it  is;  also  it  may  differ 
greatly  in  other  districts,  but  in  the  schools  I  saw,  these 
were  the  impressions  I  got.     The  strong  arm  of  the  gov- 
ernment shows  itself  everywhere  in  the  school  system; 
the  parent  is  fined  if  the  child  is  a  truant;  the  master,  as 
representative  ol  the  government,    has  almost    absolute 
authority  and  is  seldom  loved  by  the  pupils,  though  the 
boys  tip  their  hats  and  the  girls  courtesy  when  they  meet 
him    on  the   street.     The  people  have   no  voice  in  the 
choice  of  a  master.     He  is  appointed   by  the  officer  of 
the  district  who  has  full  power  over  the  appointments. 
The  master  has  almost  a  life  lease  upon  his  school.     The 
one  to  whom   I  have  just  referred  has  been  at  St.  Goar 
twenty-nine  years,  and  in  the  profession  forty-five  years, 
and  has  only  had  one  other  school  in  all  that  time.     The 
system  of  instruction  becomes  necessarily   routine,  or  at 


-89- 

any  rate  it  is  routine.  The  wages  vary  from  900  marks 
to  2,000  marks,  being  in  our  money  from  $225  to  $500 
per  year.  But  in  addition  to  these  wages  the  master 
receives  his  fuel  and  house  rent  free.  For  similar  positions 
in  Indiana  the  wages  are  from  $900  to  $2,000  per  year. 
I  am  sorry  to  say  that  I  was  not  at  all  favorably  im- 
pressed with  the  Prussian  school  system.  I  was,  per- 
haps, expecting  too  much.  We  hear  so  much  of  Ger- 
many's compulsory  education  and  its  merits  that  we  are 
led  to  over-estimate  its  real  worth.  I  am  firm  in  the 
conviction  that  the  system  and  the  schools  of  Indiana  are 
both  full  as  good,  if  not  better,  than  those  of  Prussia. 
To  be  sure  there  is  a  great  similarity,  but  while  Germany 
has  been  passive  and  conservative,  we  have  been  active, 
progressive,  and  have,  from  the  German  model,  evolved  a 
superior  system.  But  on  the  other  hand,  Germany  is 
the  only  country  in  Europe  whose  school  system  can  be 
compared  with  ours. 

It  is  not  her  school  system  that  has  made  Germany 
great.  It  is  the  systematic  training  of  her  youth,  from 
infancy,  to  be  soldiers,  that  has  made  her  the  greatest 
military  power  in  Europe.  And  besides  her  military 
power  in  what  is  she  great  ?  Are  her  people  really  edu- 
cated? I  think  not.  They  are  better  informed  than 
most  people:  they  can  recite  more  statistics,  give  more 
dates,  and  perhaps,  quote  more  poetry,  but  lack  in  a 
quick,  clear  perception,  originality,  power  and  self  con- 
trol. A  people  educated  in  the  true  sense  of  the  term, 
would  hardly  work  their  women  in  the  fields  as  beasts  of 
burden  and  harvest  hands,  and  ox-drivers,  in  order  to 
support  a  million  and  a  half  of  soldiers  in  idleness. 


-  9o  - 

We  spent  an  hour  or  more  with  the  old  school  nut- 
ter and  took  our  departure,   feeling  that  it  was  an  hour 
most  valuably  used.     But  we  find  it  necessary  to  leave 
St.  Goar,   and  again  take  boat  on  the  Rhine  with  Bieb- 
rich  as  our  destination,  from  which  place  we  are  to  walk 
to  Wiesbaden,  one  of  the  most  famous  watering  places  in 
Europe.     Just  above  St.   Goar  we  pass  the  Lurlei  rock 
on  which,  an  old  legend  tells  us,  the  sirens  sat  as  they 
lured  the  boatmen  to  destruction.     As  we  glide  up  the 
river  we  take  a  last  look  at  the  Rhinefels,  and  "the  Cat,  ' 
and    "the  Mouse,  '      as    these   three  castles   are  called; 
sweep  around  the  bend  of  the  river  and  leave  them  behind 
and  out  of  sight.     The  scenery  for  some  miles  above  St. 
Goar  is  the  best  on  the  Rhine.     The  number  of  ruined 
castles,  dating  from  the  period  of  the  robber  knights,   is 
very  large.     Quite  a  number  of  them  have  been  restored 
and  are  now  occupied;  one  of  the  finest  of  the  latter  is 
Rhinestein,  whose  lofty  situation  and  beautiful  surround- 
ings, render  it  one  of  the  loveliest  spots  on  this  lovely 
river.     Passing  numerous  towns  and  villages,  we  arrive 
at  Bingen.     Above  this   town  the  country  becomes  flat, 
the  hills  recede  and  finally  disappear,    and  the  river  be- 
comes very  wide,  being  no  longer  confined  to  the  narrow 
limits  which  it  occupies  further  down  its  course. 

The  distance  from  Biebrich  to  Wiesbaden  is  about 
three  English  miles,  and  the  way  lies  along  a  delightful 
avenue,  consisting  of  three  parts,  with  a  row  of  trees  on 
each  side  and  between  each  part.  The  west  division  is 
for  pedestrians,  the  middle  for  wagons,  and  the  east  for 
equestrians.  The  country  is  rolling,  or  slightly  undulating, 
well  cultivated,  and  in  its  general  effect  is  quite  pleasing. 
Having  traversed  about  half  the  way,  Wiesbaden  is  seen 


—  gi  — 

lying  in  a  beautiful  valley  with  splendid  buildings  and 
shaded  avenues,  and  parks  and  villages  in  the  distance, 
and  McAdamized  roads,  showing  very  plain  and  very 
white  in  the  afternoon  sun  One  meets  a  quite  difierent 
class  of  people  here.  They  are  generally  more  refined, 
more  agreeable  in  every  way  than  in  most  German  cities. 
One  is  surprised  too,  to  see  so  many  Americans  here, 
ostensibly  attending  the  springs  and  drinking  hot  water 
with  most  unutterable  names,  and  most  sickening  tastes, 
and  most  offensive  odors.  If  the  principle  laid  down  by 
Dr.  Hahneman,  that  "Similis  similibus  curantur."  is 
true,  then  some  of  the  people  who  come  to  drink  these 
waters  must  be  afflicted  with  the  saddest  combination  of 
diseases  of  which  the  mind  can  conceive. 

It  was  here  that  one  of  the  "tramps"  found  a  man 
who  could  speak  English.  This  particular  "tramp"  had 
a  habit  of  being  very  precise  and  deliberate  in  speaking, 
so  as  to  be  understood,  if  possible.  Approaching  a  well- 
dressed  gentleman,  he  addressed  him  somewhat  as 
iollows:  "Speak-you-English?"  "Oh  yes,"  came  the 
response,  in  a  clear,  musical  voice,  'I  speak  nothing 
else."  He  was  a  native  of  America.  Many  exceedingly 
amusing  things  in  this  line  occur  to  a  tourist  in  Europe. 
I  remember  one  day  while  riding  in  a  diligence  through 
France,  on  my  way  to  Chamounix,  that  I  made  a  very 
ludicrous  blunder.  Just  after  we  had  sighted  Mt.  Blanc, 
which  appears  grander  and  purer,  and  more  sublime  from 
this  point  than  any  other,  we  had  skirted  a  beautiful 
valley  and  entered  a  village,  where  the  diligence  stopped 
to  change  horses.     I  got  down  and  purchased  a  glass  of 


—  92  — 

fruit-juice  and  water,  and  liking  it  quite  well,  wanted 
some  more;  but  how  shall  I  ask  for  it?  Calling  to  mind 
some  scraps  of  French,  I  beckoned  the  pretty  French  girl 
to  me  and  began:  "Avez  vous;"  now  what?  I  remem- 
bered that  in  the  theatre  when  we  want  a  repetition  we 
say  "encore,"  this  then,  was  the  word  needed,  and  so  I 
said:  "Avez  vous  encore?"  It  was  too  much  for  the 
girl,  and  in  spite  of  her  evident  attempt  to  refrain,  a 
merry  peal  of  laughter  followed.  Then  she  said  in  quite 
good  English,  "What  do  you  mean?  If  you  speak 
English  I  can  understand  you."  I  felt  like  asking  her 
"why  she  did  not  say  so  before."  The  absurdity  of  my 
question  is  apparent.  And  I  was  laughed  at  some 
time  for  my  proficiency  (?)  in  French. 

Wiesbaden  has  many  very  fine,  wide  streets,  elegant 
residences  and  a  profusion  of  roses  and  flowers  and  shrubs 
in   the  front  yards.     However,  many  of  the  streets  are 
narrow  and  winding,  as  in  other  European  cities.     The 
principal  attractions  are  the  springs.   Many  people  from  all 
parts  of  Europe  attend  these  baths  and  drink  these  waters, 
and  listen  to  the  music  in  the  Kursaal.     While  we  were  at 
this  place,  some  of  our  party  had  the  pleasure  to  attend 
services  at  the  Greek  Chapel.     Among  the   worshipers 
that  morning  was  King  George,    the   present   ruler   of 
Greece.     The  Kursaal  is  a  music  hall  and  library,   and 
a  place  of  general  resort,  situated  in  a  splendid  park  with 
streams    flowing    through    it,    rustic    bridges,    graveled 
walks,  shaded  avenues,  stately  trees,  flowering  shrubs, 
spouting  fountains,  and  in  the  evening  brilliantly  ilumin- 
ated    by  electric   lights.     The   concerts   given   here  on 
Sunday  afternoons  are  superb  as  musical  entertainments. 
Hundreds   of  well-dressed    people,    among    whom    are 


—  93  — 

representatives  of  almost  every  civilized  people  on  earth, 
promenade  the  walks  or  loiter  about  the  music  stand. 

From  Wiesbaden,  with  three  others  of  our  party,  I 
took  a  walk  to  a  village  some  miles  away.  The  road 
which  we  followed  was  McAdamized,  and  lined  on  either 
side  by  trees.  Small  patches  of  grain  and  various  crops  of 
farm  products,  always  in  small  lots,  gave  evidence  that 
agriculture  was  the  principal  pursuit  of  the  peasants; 
though  an  occasional  milk  cart,  drawn  altogether  by 
dogs,  showed  that  some  dairying  was  going  on  to  supply 
the  adjacent  city  with  milk.  Our  walk  finally  brought  us 
to  a  little  village,  the  name  of  which  I  have  forgotten, 
but  in  which  the  characteristics  of  German  rural  life 
already  given  were  predominant  The  streets  were 
cleaner  and  more  regular  than  usual.  A  large  beer  hall 
with  a  tremendous  organ,  with  all  the  parts  of  a  cornet 
band,  worked  by  machinery,  was  one  ot  the  features  of 
the  place.  A  visit  to  the  town  hall,  which  has  all  the 
rooms  for  the  town  officers,  including  the  Burgomaster, 
and  the  school  rooms,  similar  to  those  before  described, 
and  a  walk  down  the  street  brought  us  to  the  house  of 
a  minister  whom  our  director  had  met  before.  He 
welcomed  us  heartily,  took  us  into  the  best  room  of  his 
house  and  conversed  with  us  in  a  very  intelligent  manner, 
asked  about  our  trip  and  wanted  to  adopt  one  of  the 
ladies,  offered  to  keep  the  other  one  and  teach  her 
German;  told  of  his  son  in  the  army;  and  ordered  two 
huge  bottles  of  wine  and  some  cigars.  Of  the  four  of  us 
I  was  the  only  smoker,  but  all  remembered  St. 
Paul's  injunction  and  helped  dispose  of  the  wine  for  the 


—  94  — 

"stomach's  sake."  After  a  pleasant  visit,  a  rather  warm 
walk  brought  us  back  to  Wiesbaden.  At  the  latter  place 
nearly  every  denomination  has  a  church  edifice.  The 
Greek  church,  the  Catholic,  the  Episcopalian,  the 
Lutheran,  the  Presbyterian,  and  so  on,  are  all  there. 
The  cosmopolitan  character  of  the  summer  population, 
renders  this,  if  not  really  necessary,  at  least  quite 
desirable.  Whatever  be  the  visitor's  creed,  he  finds  here 
a  congenial  place  to  worhip.  We  left  Wiesbaden  for 
Worms,  to  pay  a  visit  to  the  monument  of  Martin  Luther, 
the  monk  who  nailed  his  theses  to  the  church  door,  and 
whose  indomitable  will  and  energy  brought  on  the 
Reformation.  It  was  here  that  the  celebrated  Diet  of 
Worms  met.  In  these  streets,  these  cathedrals,  in  this 
atmosphere,  we  saw  and  felt  Luther  in  everything.  Two 
hours  in  Worms,  and  we  pass  on  by  rail  by  the  way  of 
Ludwigshaft  and  Mannheim.  On  the  Rhine  I  saw  some 
mills  that  were  curiosities,  at  least  to  me.  The  building  was 
built  in  shape  and  size  like  a  side-wheel,  river  steamboat. 
It  was  set  in  the  water  and  anchored  firmly.  The  wheels, 
one  on  each  side,  reach  down  into  the  water,  and  the 
current  striking  only  the  lower  portion,  turns  them 
around,  thus  propelling  the  machinery  in  the  mill.  By 
this  means  the  expense  of  the  dam  is  avoided,  and  all 
that  is  necessary  to  furnish  power  is  a  tolerably  swift 
current.  The  railway  cars  will  be  found  to  be  better, 
generally,  in  Germany  than  elsewhere  on  that  side  of  the 
Atlantic,  but  the  trains  run  very  slowly,  and  there  will  be 
found  a  greater  variety  of  cars  than  anywhere  else  in  the 
world,  I  think;  and  the  officers  are  quite  discourteous 


—  95  — 

and  uncivil  to  passengers.  But  a  mark  or  two  quietly 
slipped  into  the  guard's  hand  will  work  a  wonderful 
transformation  in  this  respect. 

One  peculiar  feature  of  the  railroads  in  Germany,  I 
must  not  omit  to  mention;  that  is,  the  method  of  lighting 
the  cars  at  night.     On  many  of  the  roads  a  car  similar  to 
our   "fiat  car"   is   used,  with  three  iron  cylinders  about 
two  or  three  feet  in  diameter   laid   upon    the   car,    two 
being  directly  upon  the  car,  and  the  third  above   these 
two,   as  three  saw   logs  are  often   piled   in  a  mill  yard. 
These  cylinders  are  filled  with  gas,  and  so  arranged  that 
a  pressure  can  be  applied  to   maintain  a  constant  flow. 
They  are  connected  by  tubes   with  the  cars,  which  are 
thus  lighted  with  gas  instead  of  oil.     The  arrangement  is 
quite  novel.     The  idea  is  a  good  one;  but  their  mode  ot 
making  its  application  is   quite  awkward.      In  America, 
you   will    see    on    nearly   all    trains,     one    car    labeled 
"smoking  car."     In  these  you  may  smoke,  but  in   all 
others  you  must  refrain.     In  Europe  it  is  just  the  reverse. 
Smoking  is  so  general  that  you  are  at  liberty  to  smoke 
n  any  car,  no  matter  how  many  ladies  are  present,  unless 
h  is  labeled  "Not  smoker."     On  many  trains  you  will 
see  a  car  or  a  compartment    labeled  "  Nicht-Raucher," 
but  also  on  a  great  many,  there  will  not  be  a  car  on  the 
entire  train  in  which  you  may  not  smoke. 


•o^o» 


©l]<apter     12. 

Heidelberg. 

We  arrived  at  Heidelberg  in  the  evening,  stopped  at 
the  Darmstaedter  Hof,  had  supper,  and  started  out  to 
view  the  celebrated  castle  by  moonlight.    It  is  a  splendid 
old    ruin,   thus  described  by   Longfellow:     "High  and 
hoar  on  the  forehead  of  the  Jettenbuehl  stands  the  castle 
of  Heidelberg.     Behind  it  rise  the  oak  crested  hills  of  the 
Geisberg   and   the    Kaiserstuhl,  and   in   front,    irom    the 
wide  terrace  of  masonry,  you  can  almost  throw  a  stone 
upon  the  roofs  of  the  city,  so  close  do  they  lie  beneath. 
Above  this  terrace  rises  the  broad  front  of  the  chapel  of 
St.   Udalrich.     On  the  left  stands  the  slender,  octagon 
tower  of  the  horologue;  and  on  the  right,  a  huge  round 
tower,  battered  and  shattered  by  the  mace  of  war,  shores 
up   with   its   broad   shoulders,   the  beautiful  palace   and 
garden    terrace    of    Elizabeth,     wife     of     the    Pfalzgraf 
Frederick.     In  the  rear   are   older  palaces  and  towers, 
forming     a     vast,       irregular     quadrangle;      Rudolph's 
ancient   castle,    with   its   Gothic    gloriette   and   fantastic 
gables;  the  Giant's  tower,  guarding  the  drawbridge  over 
the  moat;  the  Rent  tower  with  the  linden  trees  growing 
on     its     summit;    and     the   magnificent    Rittersaal      of 
Otto  Henry,  Count   Palatine   of  the    Rhine   and  Grand 
Seneschal    of    the     Holy  Roman    Empire.     From    the 
gardens  behind  the  castle  you  pass  under  the  archway  oi 


Heidelberg  Castle. 


—  97  — 

the  Giants'  Tower  into  the  great  court-yard.  The  diverse 
architecture  of  different  ages  strikes  the  eye;  and  curious 
sculptures.  In  niches  on  the  wall  of  St.  Udalrich's  chapel 
stand  rows  of  knights  in  armour  broken  and  dismem- 
bered, and  on  the  front  of  Otto's  Rittersaal,  the 
heroes  of  Jewish  history  and  classic  fable.  You  enter  the 
open,  desolate  chambers  of  the  ruin;  and  on  every  side 
are  medallions  and  family  arms;  the  Globe  of  the  Empire 
and  the  Golden  Fleece  or  the  Eagle  of  the  Ceasers 
resting  on  the  escutcheons  of  Bavaria  and  the  Palatinate. 
Over  the  windows  and  doorways  and  chimney-pieces  are 
sculptures  and  mouldings  of  exquisite  workmanship;  and 
the  eye  is  bewildered  by  the  profusion  of  caryatides,  and 
arabesques  and  rosettes  and  fan-like  flutings,  and  garlands 
of  fruits  and  flowers  and  acorns,  and  bullocks'  heads 
with  draperies  of  foliage,  and  muzzles  of  lions,  holding 
rings  in  their  teeth.  The  cunning  hand  of  art  was  busy 
for  six  centuries  in  raising  and  adorning  these  walls:  the 
mailed  hands  of  time  and  war  have  defaced  and  over- 
thrown them  in  less  than  two.  Next  to  the  Alhambra  of 
Granada,  the  castle  of  Heidelberg  is  the  most  magnifi- 
cent ruin  of  the  Middle  Ages."  So  grand  did  the  old 
castle  and  its  surroundings  appear  by  the  pale  moon-light 
that  I  decided  to  pay  it  a  second  visit  on  the  following 
day.  In  front  of  the  palace  walls  is  a  wide  veranda  or 
stone  terrace,  at  the  east  end  of  which  is  the  old  tower 
and  at  the  west  an  octagonal  room  or  sort  of  observa- 
tory. To  the  north  is  the  deep  valley  through  which 
flows  the  Neckar  and  along  each  side  of  it  lies  the  city. 
Away  to  the  west  is  the  railway  station  where  there  is 


-  98  - 

such  a  number  of  lights,  blue,  red,  white  and  all  colors, 
sparkling  and  gleaming  and  dancing,  that  one  almost 
imagines  it  to  be  a  rich  bed  of  diamonds  and  emeralds, 
and  rubies  under  the  brilliant  rays  of  an  electric  light. 
The  scene,  as  I  saw  it,  was  indescribably  beautiful.  As 
I  stood  here  viewing  the  hills  and  city  and  river  by  the 
mellow  light  of  the  moon,  a  song  and  music  came  from 
the  town  below,  where  evidently  a  number  of  students 
had  congregated  and  were  indulging  in  those  two  accom- 
plishments of  German  students — song  and  beer. 

The  situation  of  Heidelberg  is  lovely  in  the  extreme. 
On  each  side  the  hills  are  high.  Breaking  through  the 
hills  comes  the  Neckar  on  its  way  to  the  Rhine.  West 
of  the  town  is  the  broad  plain  that  skirts  the  Rhine  and 
across  this  plain,  rising  in  a  shadowy  almost  indefinable 
line  or  ridge,  are  the  "Blue  Alsatian  Mountains."  The 
houses  and  streets  of  the  town  are  both  of  stone. 

Heidelberg  University  is  the  oldest  in  Germany,  and 
one  of  the  most  celebrated  in  the  world.  The  buildings 
are  quite  old  and  very  commonplace.  They  occupy  a 
square  in  the  middle  of  the  town  with  no  grounds 
around.  It  is  not  in  as  great  favor  now  as  formerly 
though  its  medical  department  is,  I  believe,  regarded  as 
the  best  in  Europe.  Here  Longfellow  studied  and  many 
of  our  best  scholars  in  America  have  spent  some  time  at 
Heidelberg.  This,  like  most  other  German  universities, 
has  always  been  famous  for  duelng  among  the  students. 
Indeed,  no  student  has  any  standing  as  such,  unless  he 
bears  a  scar  received  in  a  duel.  Many  men  are  met  in 
Europe  with  ugly  scars  on  face  and  head  who  regard 
their  disfigurement  as  their  greatest  honor.  The  scar  that 


—  99  — 

comes  from  a  sabre  cut  in  a  university  duel,  is  a  source  of 
great  pride  to  the  average  German  heart. 

The  University  is  nominally  under  the  patronage  ol 
the  Grand  Duke  of  Baden,  though  I  suspect  the  Duke 
gives  it  little  personal  attention.  Students  may  enter 
Heidelberg  to  do  hard  work  or  to  have  a  good  time. 
The  majority  are  thoroughly  in  earnest,  and  work  very 
hard  in  the  course  chosen  by  them.  One  may,  however, 
pay  little  attention  to  his  studies  and  university  duties. 
It  depends  entirely  upon  the  taste,  wants,  inclinations  and 
financial  condition  of  the  individual.  No  examination  is 
required  for  entrance,  the  student  merely  matriculates 
and  pays  his  fee,  receives  a  certificate  entitling  him  to 
attend  lectures,  chooses  the  professors  he  will  hear  lecture 
and  then  goes  to  work  in  earnest,  or  sinks  into  indolent 
leisure  as  the  case  may  be. 

It  must  be  remembered  that  there  is  a  great  differ- 
ence usually  between  the  German  and  American  students 
who  attend  the  University,  in  the  manner  of  their  prepa- 
ration or  previous  training.  The  German  students  come 
to  the  University  from  the  Gymnasia  when  they  have 
gone  through  a  course  of  study  and  discipline  nowhere 
excelled  in  extent  of  work  or  in  the  intense  application 
to  labor  required  of  the  pupil.  He  has  already,  as  a 
usual  thing,  mastered  the  science  or  specialty  which  the 
foreign  student  comes  to  Heidelberg  to  pursue.  Hence 
the  German  student  can  play  if  he  wish  to,  while  the  for- 
eign student  works  "like  a  horse"  to  go  over  the 
ground  already  traveled  by  the  former.     The  classes  of 


—    IOO    — 

the  professors  are  sometimes  large,  sometimes  small, 
according  as  the  lectures  and  the  professor  may  be  popu- 
lar, or  the  reverse. 

The  student  is  in  a  very  large  measure  his  own  mas- 
ter, free  Irom  restraints,  at  liberty  to  attend  lectures  or 
not,  to  drink  beer  or  roam  on  the  wood-covered  hills,  to 
prowl  around  the  castle,  to  sing,  to  fight  duels,  and  to  do 
or  not  to  do  anything  else  as  his  inclinations  may  dictate. 
If  he  violates  any  of  the  laws  of  the  municipality  or  of 
the  Grand  Duchy,  and  is  to  be  arrested  by  an  officer, 
he  merely  claims  the  protection  ol  the  university  cor- 
poration, in  which  case  the  officer  takes  his  name  and 
reports  him  to  the  university  officers.  He  is  then 
accused,  tried,  often  in  his  absence,  sentenced  to  con- 
finement in  the  university  prison,  called  upon  by  a 
university  constable,  who  inquires  when  it  will  be  agree- 
able for  him  to  come  to  prison,  ascertains  the  date  and 
takes  a  note  of  it  and  goes  away  well  knowing  that  on 
that  date  the  student  will  present  himself  for  punishment, 
according  to  the  sentence  of  the  court.  he  student  can 
also  be  complained  of,  tried  in  his  absence,  convicted  and 
sentenced  to  confinement  in  the  university  prison  for 
violation  of  the  laws  of  the  university  corporation.  I 
was  told  that  this  queer  custom  is  very  old.  and  that  a 
student  never  fails  to  come  to  prison  on  the  day  he  agrees 
to  do  so. 

Many  stories  are  told  of  their  duelling  and  the  vari- 
ous pranks  that  certain  students  will  play  in  order  to  pro- 
voke a  duel  so  that  he  may  gain  the  glory  supposed  to 


IOI 


be  due  to  all  students  who  bear  scars,  but  it  is  useless  to 
repeat  them  here.  Many  of  the  students  own  dogs, 
indeed  it  is  regarded  as  quite  the  thing  to  tow  a  dog 
around  by  a  string. 

It  is  not  the  majority,  however,  who  own  dogs, 
drink  beer,  fight  duels,  sing  sentimental  songs,  and  ap- 
pear constantly  upon  the  streets.  The  majority  come  to 
the  university  to  work.  They  come  from  the  colleges  and 
gymnasia  to  prepare  themselves  for  teaching  some 
specialty  and  perfecting  themselves  for  professorships. 
These  men  work,  they  do  not  idle  away  their  time.  To 
them  time  is  money.  Their  resources  are  limited;  they 
must  make  the  most  of  the  opportunity.  Indeed,  it  has 
been  well  said  that  "it  would  be  a  mistake  to  suppose 
that  the  easy-going,  pleasure-seeking  student  carries  an 
empty  head.  Just  the  contrary.  He  has  spent  nine 
years  in  the  gymnasium,  under  a  system  which  allowed 
him  no  freedom,  but  rigorously  compelled  him  to  work 
like  a  slave.  Consequently  he  has  left  the  gymnasium 
with  an  education  which  is  so  extensive  and  complete, 
that  the  most  a  univeisity  can  do  for  it  is  to  perfect  some 
of  its  profounder  specialties.  It  is  said  that  when  a  pupil 
leaves  the  gymnasium,  he  not  only  has  a  comprehensive 
education,  but  he  knows  what  he  knows — it  is  not  befog- 
ged with  uncertainty,  it  is  burnt  into  him  so  that  it  will 
stay.  For  instance,  he  does  not  merely  read  and  write 
Greek,  but  speaks  it;  the  same  with  the  Latin.  Foreign 
youth  steer  clear  of  the  gymnasium;  its  rules  are  too 
severe.     They  go  to  the  university  to  put  a  mansard  roof 


i 
I02    


on  their  whole  general  education;  but  the  German  student 
already  has  his  mansard  roof,  so  he  goes  there  to  add  a 
steeple  in  the  nature  of  some  specialty.  So  this  German 
attends  only  the  lectures  which  belong  to  the  chosen 
branch,  and  drinks  his  beer  and  tows  his  dog  around, 
and  has  a  general  good  time  the  rest  of  the  day.  He 
has  been  in  rigid  bondage  so  long  that  the  large  liberty 
of  university  lile  is  just  what  he  needs  and  likes  and  thor- 
oughly appreciates;  and  as  it  can  not  last  forever,  he 
makes  the  most  of  it  while  it  does  last,  and  so  lays  up  a 
good  rest  against  the  day  that  must  see  him  put  on  the 
chains  once  more  and  enter  the  slavery  of  official  or  pro- 
fessional life." 

Putting  aside  whatever  of  sarcasm  may  be  found  in 
the  foregoing  quotation,  there  is  still  found  in  it  much 
truth  and  faithful  representation  of  university  life  at 
Heidelberg.  However,  an  injustice  is  done  in  it  to  for- 
eign students.  They  do  not  steer  clear  of  the  German 
gymnasium,  because  they  go  to  Germany  as  thoroughly 
prepared  for  a  university  life  as  any  training  in  a  gym- 
nasium could  make  them.  The  student  who  goes  to 
a  German  university,  as  a  rule,  is  a  man  who  would  be 
thoroughly  prepared  for  it,  if  there  were  no  colleges  or 
gymnasia.  I  say  as  a  rule)  of  course  there  are  excep- 
tions. The  American  college  and  the  German  gymna- 
sium do  not  materially  differ  in  the  opportunity  in  either 
to  acquire  an  education,  except  that  in  the  American 
college  there  is  much  more  freedom;  and  the  college 
usually  turns  out  an  earnest,    tireless  worker  who  can 


—  103  — 

think  and  investigate  for  himself,  and  who  is  thus  pecul- 
iarly fitted  for  the  freedom  of  a  university  life,  while  the 
gymnasium  turns  out  a  machine,  or  at  least  the  product 
of  a  machine-like  discipline.  The  reader  can  not  -fail  to 
note  the  difference  between  the  German  university  at 
Heidelberg  and  the  English  university  at  Cambridge, 
described  in  an  earlier  chapter.  Heidelberg  is  a  type  of 
the  German  university.  The  students  do  not  sleep  or 
board  in  the  college  buildings  as  they  do  in  the  English 
universities.  In  fact  there  are  no  colleges  in  the  German 
universities.  The  buildings  at  Heidelberg  are  quite 
meager  compared  with  any  of  the  English  universities. 
Indeed,  in  America,  many  colleges  which  makes  no  pre- 
tentions to  the  rank  o£  a  university,  have  much  more 
pretentious  buildings  than  are  to  be  found  at  Heidelberg. 
The  American  university  is  founded  on  the  German 
model,  with  one  notable  exception.  The  American  uni- 
versity has  not  inaugurated  the  practice  of  duelling.  So 
much  is  said  of  duels  among  students  that  it  may  not  be 
out  of  place  to  quote  the  description  of  one  by  an  eye 
witness.  The  duels  are  fought  by  a  small  proportion  of 
the  students,  and  generally  by  those  who  belong  to  what 
is  known  as  the  "corps."  The  students  who  are  to 
fight  are  stripped  and  padded  with  cloth  at  every  vulner- 
able point,  and  wear  iron  goggles  over  the  eyes . 

"The  combatants  were  watching  each  other  with 
alert  eyes;  a  perfect  stillness,  a  breathless  interest  reigned. 
I  felt  that  I  was  going  to  see  some  wary  work.  But  not 
so.     The  instant  the  word  was  given,  the  two  apparitions 


—  104  — 

sprang  forward  and  began  to  rain  blows  down  upon  each 
other  with  such  lightning  rapidity  that  I  could  not  quite 
tell  whether  I  saw  the  swords  or  only  the  flashes  they 
made  in  the  air;  the  rattling  din  of  these  blows,  as  they 
struck  steel  or  paddings,  was  something  wonderfully 
stirring,  and  they  were  struck  with  such  terrific  force  that 
I  could  not  understand  why  the  opposing  sword  was  not 
beaten  down  under  the  assault. 

"Presently,  in  the  midst  of  the  sword-flashes,  I  saw 
a  handful  of  hair  skip  into  the  air  as  if  it  had  lain  loose 
on  the  victim's  head  and  a  breath  of  wind  had  puffed  it 
suddenly  away. 

"The  seconds  cried  'Halt!'  and  knocked  up  the  com- 
batants' swords  with  their  own.  The  duellists  sat  down, 
a  student  official  stepped  forward,  examined  the  wounded 
head,  and  touched  the  place  with  a  sponge  once  or  twice; 
the  surgeon  came  and  turned  back  the  hair  from  the 
wound,  and  revealed  a  crimson  gash  two  or  three  inches 
long,  and  proceeded  to  bind  an  oval  piece  of  leather  and 
a  bunch  of  lint  over  it;  the  tally-keeper  stepped  up  and 
tallied  one  for  the  opposition  in  his  book. 

"Then  the  duellists  took  position  again;  a  small 
stream  of  blood  was  flowing  down  the  side  of  the  injured 
man's  head,  and  over  his  shoulder,  and  down  his  body 
to  the  floor,  but  he  did  not  seem  to  mind  this.  The 
word  was  given  and  they  plunged  at  each  other  as 
fiercely  as  before;  once  more  the  blows  rained  and 
rattled  and  flashed;  every  few  moments  the  quick-eyed 
seconds  would  notice  that  a  sword  was  bent — then    they 


—  ros  — 

called  'halt!'  struck  up  the  contending  weapons,  and  an 
assistant  student  straightened  the  bent  one. 

"The  wonderful  turmoil  went  on— presently  a  bright 
spark  sprang  from  a  blade,  and  that  blade,  broken  in 
several  pieces,  sent  one  of  its  fragments  flying  to  the 
ceiling.  A  new  sword  was  provided  and  the  fight  pro- 
ceeded. The  exercise  was  tremendous,  of  course,  and 
in  time  the  fighters  began  to  show  great  fatigue.  They 
were  allowed  to  rest  a  moment,  eveiy  little  while;  they 
got  other  rests  by  wounding  each  other,  for  then  they 
could  sit  down  while  the  doctor  applied  lint  and  band- 
ages. The  law  is  that  the  battle  must  continue  fifteen 
minutes  if  the  men  can  hold  out;  and  as  the  pauses  do 
not  count,  this  duel  was  protracted  to  twenty  or  thirty 
minutes,  I  judged.  At  last  it  was  decided  that  the  men 
were  too  much  wearied  to  do  battle  longer.  They  were 
led  away  drenched  with  crimson  from  head  to  foot." 

In  these  duels,  of  course,  every  precaution  is  taken 
in  preparing  the  adversaries,  that  no  serious  injury  shall 
be  inflicted  on  either  side.  If  the  duel  result  as  the  one 
above  described,  it  is  called  a  drawn  battle,  and  must  be 
re-fought. 

This  matter  of  duelling  will,  I  believe,  be  recognized 
as  another  material  distinction  between  the  German  and 
English  universities. 

As  we  were  about  to  leave  Heidelberg,  an  amusing 
incident  occurred.  Mr.  Conger  and  my  friend  Davis, 
became  separated  from  us.  Here  as  elsewhere  you  can- 
not  walk  across    the  railroad  track   without   danger   of 


—  106  — 

arrest.  Our  train  was  on  the  opposite  side  and  outside  of 
the  depot.  To  get  there,  it  was  necessary  to  go  under 
the  tracks  by  means  of  a  tunnel.  When  we  crossed 
under,  our  two  members  were  paying  attention  to  some- 
thing else.  Discovering  that  they  were  alone,  they 
began  to  rush  frantically  up  and  down  the  depot,  asking 
every  German  they  met  whether  they  ' '  had  seen  eighteen 
Americans  anywhere?"  The  only  answer  they  received 
to  their  inquiries  was  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders  and  a 
shake  of  the  head  which  so  significantly  indicates,  "  I 
don't  understand  you."  Finally  they  met  an  English- 
man whom  they  accosted  in  the  same  way.  ' '  Why,  my 
dear  sirs,  "  he  replied,  "  I  can't  tell  Americans  from  any- 
body else. "  Then  Conger  frantically  started  across  the 
track,  upon  which  a  policeman  kindly  took  him  in 
charge,  but  upon  discovering  the  species  of  his  captive, 
promptly  released  him.  "What  shall  we  do?"  said 
Conger.  "I  haven't  a  cent  with  me,"  said  Davis. 
"We  can't  make  any  of  these  confounded  Dutchmen 
understand  a  word  we  say,"  said  Conger,  whose  eyes 
were  about  to  protrude  from  their  sockets.  In  the  mean- 
time the  train  was  due  to  depart  and  none  of  us  knew 
where  they  were.  We  gave  the  guard  a  bribe  to  hold 
the  train  a  minute  or  so,  and  Spangler  went  to  look  for 
them.  He  found  them  condoling  each  other  and  lament- 
ing their  sad  fate  in  being  lost  in  a  strange  country, 
whose  language  was  as  strange  to  them  as  Chinese. 
Spangler  returned  with  the  two  worthies  and  we  were 
again  a  united  party  and,  metaphorically,  we  fell  upon 
their  breasts  and  welcomed  them  back. 

The  independent  spirit  of  an   American  frequently 
gets  him  into  trouble.     At  Mayence,  Conger  asked  for  a 


—  107  — 

glass  of  milk  at  a  lunch  stand  at  the  depot.  It  was 
served  by  a  girl,  and  when  he  tasted  it  he  found  it  to  be 
sour.  He  protested  that  it  was  not  sweet  and  that  he 
would  not  pay  for  sour  milk.  The  girl  insisted,  and 
Conger  walked  away.  The  girl  called  a  big  burly  police- 
man who  took  him  back  to  the  stand,  where  he  was 
compelled  ignominiously  to  pay  for  his  sour  milk.  After 
paying  for  it  Conger  drank  the  milk,  saying  he  would 
not  let  her  sell  it  to  some  one  else,  if  it  killed  him  to 
drink  it. 


§ 


©bapter  I3. 

Nuremberg,  Bavaria,  Munich. 

Nuremburg,  or  Nuernberg,  as  the  Germans  spell  it, 
is  the  quaintest  old  city  in  Europe.  After  five  changes 
of  cars,  and  having  ridden  in  cars  of  every  possible  con- 
struction and  style,  including  a  cheap  imitation  of  an 
American  smoking  car,  we  arrived  before  the  walls  ot 
this  ancient  city.  She  is  surrounded  by  a  formidable 
wall  of  heavy  masonry,  in  front  of  which  is  a  deep  and 
wide  moat.  At  intervals  on  the  wall  are  watch  towers. 
The  ancient  city  is  within  the  walls;  the  modern  part 
without.  The  buildings  are  ancient  and  quaint  in  the 
extreme;  gable  roofs,  oriel  windows,  narrow  streets,  shop 
windows  full  of  toys  and  jewelry  and  gloves;  and  gloomy 
looking  houses,  are  characteristics  of  the  place.  Statues 
abound  in  the  public  squares,  and  in  the  churches,  and 
around  fountains  in  the  public  streets.  Many  of  these 
pieces  of  statuary  are  fine  specimens  of  true  art.  The 
house  of  Albrecht  Duerer,  the  famous  painter  of  Nurem- 
berg, is  worth  a  visit,  for  its  associations,  but  not  on 
account  of  its  architecture  or  convenience  of  arrangement 
or  beauty. 

The  castle  at  Nuremberg  is  a  gloomy  old  structure 
of  the  Middle  Ages,  and  has  always  until  1S66  been  the 
royal  residence  of  Bavaria's  monarchs.  It  occupies  a 
high  rock,  overlooking  the  entire  city.     It  stands  to-day 


—   log  — 

as  a  representative  of  the  cruelty,  superstition  and  bar- 
barity of  the  Middle  Ag^s.  Dark  dungeons  and  long 
tunnels  abound.  Two  of  these  are  remarkable.  One 
leads  to  the  outside  of  the  city,  a  mile  and  a  quarter  dis- 
tant to  the  river,  the  other  leads  to  the  court  house,  a 
half  mile  away.  The  former  was  built  to  enable  the  in- 
mates to  procure  water  from  the  river,  in  the  event  that 
it  should  give  out  in  the  well,  when  the  castle  was  in  a 
state  of  siege;  the  latter  for  prisoners,  condemned  to  per- 
petual darkness  at  the  court  house,  to  go  to  the  castle 
well  for  water. 

This  well  is  325  feet  deep,  dug  through  solid  stone, 
and  the  tunnel  enters  a  gallery  near  to  the  bottom  of  the 
well.  It  required  thirty  years  of  constant  labor  to  dig 
this  well,  and  the  work  was  done  entirely  by  condemned 
prisoners.  The  well  contains  excellent  water,  cool  and 
clear.  A  small  quantity  of  water  dropped  into  the  well 
from  the  top  reaches  the  bottom  in  six  seconds.  Our 
guide,  a  pretty  bright-eyed  little  German  girl,  took  a  cup 
of  water  and  poured  it  out  in  six  parts  about  a  second 
apart,  as  the  last  part  left  the  cup  we  heard  the  first  strike 
the'water  at  the  bottom ;  and  following  in  the  same  order  as 
the  water  was  dropped,  came  the  successive  reports  from 
the  bottom.  It  was  quite  interesting  to  note  what  pride 
and  enthusiasm  the  girl  manifested  in  showing  us  the  mys- 
tery of  the  well.  But  in  nothing  else  is  the  barbarity 
and  inhuman  cruelty  of  the  Dark  Ages  so  conspicuously 
manifested  as  in  the  rooms  containing  the  instruments  ol 
torture.  Long  since  unused,  they  are  now  kept  together 
and  exhibited  as  the  legacy  of  an  age  of  cruelty  and 
selfishness,  the  reality  of  which  to  us  seems  impossible. 

The  instruments  of  torture  are  the  stocks,  the  duck- 


—   no  — 

ing  stool,  the  Dutch  chair,  the  thumb-screw,  the  rack, 
the  cradle,  the  chair  and  two-edged  sword,  the  "  Eisene 
Jungfrau  "and  many  others,  the  use  of  which  it  is  horri- 
ble even  to  contemplate. 

The  stocks  are  of  two  kinds.  One  is  like  a  modern 
churn  in  shape,  with  a  hole  at  the  top.  The  criminal 
was  placed  inside  of  this  churn-like  affair,  his  head  pro- 
truding through  the  hole,  and  he  was  placed  in  the 
public  square  and  market  place  and  remained  there  for  a 
period  longer  or  shorter,  according  to  his  sentence.  The 
other  kind  is  the  ordinary  instrument  through  which  the 
feet  and  arms  were  fastened  which  is  familiar  to  all.  The 
ducking  stool  was  used  to  duck  bakers  who  cheated  in 
the  weight  of  a  loaf  of  bread.  They  were  ducked  in  the 
river  as  many  times  as  the  loaf  lacked  ounces  in  weight. 
One  noticeable  instrument  is  a  kind  of  frame  in  which 
scolding  women  were  tied  and  left  in  the  public  place  to 
be  jeered  and  scoffed  at  by  the  crowds.     - 

The  thumb-screw  so  extensively  used  in  religious 
persecutions,  consists  of  two  parallel  pieces  of  iron  with 
teeth  like  a  saw,  so  that  the  pieces  will  fit  together  like 
two  saw  blades,  the  teeth  of  one  fitting  into  the  notches 
of  the  other.  The  thumbs  of  the  victims  were 
placed  between  these  pieces  of  iron  and  they  were  then 
screwed  together.  The  pieces  of  iron  are  connected 
with  a  crank,  by  means  of  which  they  are  given  a 
vibratory  motion.  The  effect  thus  produced  upon  the 
victim  is  not  only  painful  in  the  extreme,  but  it  is  also  a 
nervous  shock  much  like  that  produced  by  electricity, 
though  less  intense. 

The  Dutch  chair  is  a  large  chair  with  the  bottom 
full   of  long    sharp-pointed   spikes    projecting    upward. 


—  Ill   — 

The  victim  is  seated  upon  these  and  heavy  weights 
hung  upon  his  feet,  which  do  not  touch  the  ground  by 
several  feet.  These  weights  gradually  pull  him  down 
farther  and  farther  upon  the  spikes,  for  hours  causing 
excruciating  pain. 

There  was  one  instrument,  the  name  of  which  I  did 
not  learn,  which  resembles  a  huge  pair  of  tongs  with 
ragged  and  teeth  like  edges.  These  were  heated  red  hot 
and  used  in  that  state  to  pull  off  the  flesh  from  the 
victim's  body.  The  suffering  caused  by  this  cruel  treat- 
ment can  be  better  imagined  than  described. 

The  "  Eisene  Jungfrau,  "or  the  iron  young-wife,  is 
another  remaining  monument  of  the  barbarism  of  the  past. 
It  is  much  the  shape  of  a  human  body  upon  the  outside 
— the  inside  entirely  so.  The  victim  comdemned  to 
death  was  placed  inside,  and  the  doors  having  long, 
sharp  spikes,  of  which  two  were  so  placed  as  to  enter  the 
victim's  eyes,  the  others  placed  so  as  to  pierce  different 
parts  of  the  body,  were  then  closed  and  sooner  or  later 
death  followed  the  fearful  suffering  of  the  victim. 

The  rack  is  a  long  table  upon  which  the  victim  was 
laid  upon  his  back.  His  hands  were  fastened  securely  at 
one  end  and  his  feet  attached  to  a  rope  which  ran  over 
pulleys  on  the  same  principle  as  the  "block  and  tackle.  " 
He  was  then  stretched  out  until  the  body  suffered  intense 
pain,  when  the  body  became  partly  paralyzed  or  inured 
to  the  pain  a  few  turns  of  the  pulley  revived,  in  an  inten- 
sified manner,  the  pain. 

The  cradle  is  an  instrument  much  resembling  a 
wooden  cradle.  It  has  sharp  spikes  projecting  inwardly 
from  the  bottom,  sides  and  ends  of  the  instrument.     The 


—    112    

victim  was  tied  hand  and  foot,  and   laid   into  this  cradle 
and  rocked. 

The  iron  chair  and  two-edged  sword  were  used  for 
executions;  the  victim  merely  sat  down  upon  the  chair 
and  the  executioner  swung-  the  great  sword  and  the  head 
dropped  oft. 

The  foregoing  are  only  a  few  of  the  instruments  of 
torture  which  I  saw  and  examined  in  this  old  castle.  It 
seemed  to  me  as  I  viewed  them,  that  all  the  ingenuity  of 
the  Middle  Ages  had  been  employed  to  invent  means  to 
prolong  and  to  intensify  human  pain.  What  a  change 
since  then  !  Now  it  is  the  study  of  mankind  to  relieve 
and  prevent  pain.  Intense  hatred  and  cruel  selfishness 
have  been  replaced  by  loving  kindness  and  sympathy. 
But  the  saddest  fact  that  thrusts  itself  unbidden  upon  my 
mind  is  this:  Most  of  these  engines  of  cruelty  were  the 
inventions  of  the  church,  or  rather,  I  should  say,  of 
priests.  Preaching  "peace  on  earth  and  good  will 
among  men,  "  they  put  to  death,  with  every  species  of 
cruelty  and  devilish  ingenuity  they  could  invent,  those 
who  happened  to  incur  their  displeasure.  But  the  church 
of  Jesus  Christ  was  started  on  earth  to  succeed  even 
against  the  "gates  of  hell.  "  And  she  has  come  down  to 
our  times  in  spite  of  the  crimes  and  blunders  and  crimi- 
nal selfishness  of  her  professed  friends,  bringing  in  the 
fullness  of  time  a  grand  civilization.  That  we  enjoy  and 
partake  of  this  civilization  instead  of  the  barbarism  of 
which  these  instruments  of  torture  are  evidences,  we 
should  be  profoundly  thankful. 

Nuremberg  is  celebrated  for  its  manufacture  of  toys 
and  jewelry.  The  people  dress  in  ancient  costumes; 
their  customs  are   old,    their  houses   older  yet;  almost 


—  ii3  — 

secluded  from  the  world,  the  spot  seems  to  be  a  little 
remnant  of  the  Middle  Ages  that  has  lagged  behind  the 
progress  of  the  world  and  is  unable  to  catch  up  with  it. 
Here  also  dogs  are  used  to  draw  milk-carts.  In  Europe  but 
little  ice  is  put  up.  Refrigerators  are  almost  an  unknown 
quantity  outside  of  the  more  progressive  cities.  To  keep 
milk  sweet,  it  is  boiled.  During  the  Middle  Ages,  what 
skill  and  ability  were  not  used  to  make  engines  of  tor- 
ture, were  employed  to  decorate  and  beautify  their  cathe- 
drals. Nuremberg,  therefore,  has  some  fine  churches, 
which  the  chisel  and  brush  of  artists  have  rendered  inter- 
esting and  beautiful.  At  this  place  is  one  of  the  finest 
Jewish  synagogues  in  Europe. 

But  after  all,  Nuremberg  is  interesting  more  from 
her  associations,  than  anything  else.  Her  painters,  poets, 
sculptors,  have  done  more  to  render  her  name  immortal 
than  all  her  ancient  commerce,  or  kings  or  castles. 

Longfellow  felt  this  when  he  wrote  of  her  as  follows: 
"In  the  valley  of  the  Peguitz,  where, 

Across  broad  meadow-lands, 
Rise  th  e  blue  Franconian  mountains, 

Nuremberg,  the  ancient  stands. 
Quaint  old  town  of  toil  and  traffic, 
Quaint  old  town  of  art  and  song, 
Memories  haunt  thy  pointed  gables 

Like  the  rooks  that  round  them  throng, 
Memories  of  the  Middle  Ages,  when 

Thy  emperors  rough  and  bold 
Had  their  dwellings  in  thy  castle 
Time  defying,  centuries  old. 

And  thy  brave  and  thrifty  burghers, 
Boasted  in  their  uncouth  rhyme 
That  their  great  imperial  city 

Stretched  its  hand  through  every  clime. 
Everywhere  I  see  around  me  rise  the 
Wondrous  world  of  Art: 


—  ii4  — 

Fountains  wrought  with  richest  sculpture 

Standing  in  the  common  mart, 
And  above  cathedral  doorways 

Saints  and  bishops  carved  in  stone, 
By  a  former  age  commissioned  as 

Apostles  to  our  own. 
Here  when 'Art  was  still  religion, 

With  a  simple  reverent  heart, 
Lived  and  labored  Albrecht  Duerer, 

The  Evangelist  of  Art. 
EMIGRAVIT  is  the  inscription  on  the 

Tombstone  where  he  lies; 
Dead  he  is  not — but  departed — 

For  the  artist  never  dies. 
Fairer  seems  the  ancient  city 

And  the  sunshine  seems  more  fair 
That  he  once  has  trod  its  pavements, 

That  he  once  has  breathed  its  air. 
Here  Hans  Sachs,  the  cobbler  poet, 

Laureate  of  the  gentle  craft, 
Wisest  of  the  twelve  wise  masters 

In  huge  folios  sang  and  laughed. 
Vanished  is  thy  ancient  splendor 

And  before  my  dreamy  eye 
Wave  these  mighty  shapes  and 

Figures,  like  a  faded  tapestry. 
Not  thy  councils,  not  thy  Kaisers, 

Win  for  thee  the  world's  regard, 
But  thy  painter  Albrecht  Duerer 

And  Hans  Sachs,  thy  cobbler  bard." 

In  Bavaria  I  whs  surprised  to  see  many  tracts  of 
country  covered  with  natural  pine  forests.  The  country 
is  rolling  and  usually  the  hill  sides  are  covered  with 
wood.  One  is  surprised  to  see'^the  ^large  amount  of 
hops  that  is  raised  in  this]  section  of  Germany. 
In  many  districts  one  would  get  the  impression  that 
they  are  the  only  crop,  so  many  are  seen.     But  one  of 


—  H5  — 

the  most  astonishing  things  to  an  American,  is  the  large 
number  of  fortifications.  Within  the  distance  of  a  half 
hour's  ride,  I  counted  five  very  large  and  powerful  forts, 
the  only  use  of  which  I  could  discover,  was  to  guard  the 
railroad  on  which  we  were  going  to  Munich.  At  each 
fort,  of  course,  a  large  body  of  soldiers  were  stationed, 
and  almost  every  town  and  city  had  its  complement  of 
soldiers.  It  seems  disgusting  to  see  these  thousands  of 
the  ablest-bodied  men  of  the  empire,  who  ought  to  be 
producing  wealth  instead  of  consuming  it,  supported  in 
idleness,  or  employed  in  work  worse  than  idleness,  while 
the  old  women  and  girls  are  left  at  home  to  support  a 
military  tyranny.  Everywhere  the  railroad  depots  are 
very  substantial  buildings  and  not  unfrequently  guarded 
by  soldiers,  or  within  the  protection  of  the  guns  of  a 
fort. 

I  was  told  that  in  Bavaria  the  people  largely  own  their 
land  in  small  parcels  of  a  few  acres  each,  and  that  there 
are  fewer  landlords  holding  large  estates  than  elsewhere. 
They  are  unable  to  accumulate  very  much  and  the  lands 
remain  in  smallholdings. 

The  amount  of  beer  which  is  consumed  is  incredible. 
It  is  made  from  hops  which  accounts  for  the  numerous 
hop  fields  seen  in  this  country.  It  is  not  adulterated 
because  hops  are  cheaper  than  aloes  or  other  materials 
used  to  adulterate  beer.  Therefore  the  beer  is  better  and 
healthier  than  that  found  in  England  or  America.  The 
size  of  the  glass  and  the  smallness  of  the  price  stagger 
one.  The  glass  is  a  mug  shaped  receptacle  with  a  handle 
on  the  side  and  a  pewter  lid.  It  holds  a  pint  or  a  pint 
and  a  halt;  and  for  this  quantity  the  prevailing  price  is 
not  above  two  cents  of  our  money. 


—  n6  — 

The  average  price,  I  think,  is  not  more  than  one 
and  a  half  cents  per  glass.  Smoking  and  beer-drinking 
are  considered  a  national  trait  of  character,  and  one  is 
not  patriotic  to  the  Fatherland  who  does  not  do  both. 
Beer  gardens  abound  everywhere.  But  I  must  say  that 
I  did  not  see  a  boisterously  drunken  individual  there. 
Whether  there  is  much  drunkenness  there,  depends  upon 
what  is  meant  by  "drunkenness.  "  If  a  man  is  regarded 
as  drunk  as  soon  as  he  has  taken  a  glass  of  beer,  as  some 
people  contend,  then  the  whole  population,  and  most  of 
the  visitors,  are  drunk  all  the  time.  But  if  it  is  only 
meant  one  who  becomes  boisterous  and  partially  loses 
control  of  his  faculties,  then  very  few  become  drunk. 
Everybody  drinks  beer  there — men,  women  and  children. 
The  extent  to  which  men  and  women  patronize  beer 
gardens  can  only  be  realized  by  those  who  see  it.  In  one 
beer  garden  in  Munich,  I  saw  4,000  people,  about  equally 
divided  as  to  sex,  sitting  at  tables  under  the  trees,  or  in 
the  verandas,  under  brilliant  electric  light,  drinking  and 
chatting  and  laughing;  while  a  military  band  belonging 
to  one  of  the  regiments  stationed  there,  was  playing  ex- 
cellent music. 

Munich  is  the  capital  of  Bavaria  and  one  of  the  most 
celebrated  cities  in  Germany.  Here  art  flourishes  under 
royal  patronage,  and  two  galleries  contain  many  master 
pieces  of  painting  from  every  celebrated  artist.  One  is 
hung  with  productions  of  the  modern  painters  and  is 
called  the  new  Gallery;  the  other  is  hung  with  the  old 
masters  and  is  called  the  old  Gallery.  There  is  also  a 
gallery  of  sculpture.  One  cannot  help  indulging  in  the 
thought  that  either  these  old  masters  were  industrious 
and  indefatigable  in  their  work  to  a  degree  unknown  now, 


—  ii7  — 

or  that  some  of  these  pictures  seen  in  European  galleries 
are  attributed  to  men  who  did  not  paint  them. 

A  visit  to  the  principal  picture  galleries  of  Europe 
discloses  a  surprising  number  ol  pictures  by  the  same 
painter.  Surprisingly  long  lives  these  old  masters  must 
have  had,  and  an  energy  and  industry  of  which  we  know 
not  even  the  rudiments.  But  Munich  is  really  one  of  the 
art  centers  of  Europe;  few,  if  any,  places  surpass  it  in 
this  respect.  In  the  Old  Gallery,  Duerer,  Van  Dyck, 
Rembrandt,  Weenix,  Paul  Veronese,  Titian,  Raphael, 
Michael  Angelo,  and  many  others  have  left  some  of  their 
best  productions. 

Munich  has  broad  streets,  well  shaded  avenues, 
beautiful  buildings,  splendid  bridges,  and  is  altogether  a 
very  beautiful  city.  As  in  other  places,  there  are  many 
churches,  which  are  monuments  of  art,  rather  than  places 
of  worship. 

The  visitor  will  go  to  the  Royal  palace,  out  of  curi- 
osity if  for  nothing  more.  The  room  and  the  bed  in  this 
palace  in  which  Napoleon  slept  in  1809,  are  kept  just  as 
they  were,  not  having  been  used  since.  All  of  the  differ- 
ent rooms  have  inlaid  floors,  each  of  a  pattern  different 
from  the  others.  The  military  dining  room  is  adorned 
with  pictures  of  the  great  battles  of  Napoleon.  This 
seems  a  strange  decoration  for  the  walls  of  a  German 
king ;  but  when  we  remember  that  the  Bavarians  were 
some  of  Napoleon's  bravest  soldiers,  and  were  allied  to 
him  in  several  campaigns,  it  will  be  seen  that  by  this 
means  they  are  only  commemorating  many  of  their  own 
deeds  of  valor  and  heroism. 

The  royal  stables  contain  places  for  two  hundred 
and  forty  horses;  the  animals  are  all  very  fine,  and  all  of 


—  n8  — 

blooded  stock,  being  mostly  English.  The  State  car- 
riages are  superb,  but  modeled  upon  old,  clumsy  patterns. 
All  are  very  heavy,  profusely  ornamented  in  gold,  some 
with  rare  and  costly  gems.  The  number,  including 
sleighs,  is  thirty,  and  they  represent  i ,  200,000  marks  in 
value.  Bavaria's  mad  monarch,  before  he  began  his  whole- 
sale building  of  palaces,  had  a  mania  for  building  State 
carriages,  which  accounts  for  many  of  these. 

The  palace  of  Nymphenberg,  which  lies  west  of  the 
city,  is  not  itself  remarkable,  but  the  grounds  are 
extremely  lovely.  Water  courses,  small  lakes,  water 
falls,  spendid  walks,  shady  lanes;  swans  floating  grace- 
fully upon  the  water,  which  is  so  clear  that  thousands  of 
fish  are  plainly  visible;  shrubbery,  fresh  and  green; 
summer  houses,  and  stately  forest  trees  are  some  of  the 
elements  of  its  beauty.  Fountains  spouting  fifty  feet  high 
cool  the  air  and  add  beauty  to  the  grounds.  Many  deer, 
tame  and  graceful,  are  seen  in  the  shade  of  the  trees,  or 
quietly  browsing  twigs  and  shrubs. 

One  of  the  features  of  the  city  is  the  statue  of  Bavaria 
seventy  feet  high,  facing  a  vacant  tract  of  land  and 
situated  upon  an  eminence,  where  it  shows  to  good 
advantage.  The  library,  the  Bavarian  national  museum 
and  many  other  places  will  be  found  to  be  of  interest  to  the 
visitor.  The  Bavarians  seem  to  have  more  energy  and 
enterprise  about  them  than  the  Prussians;  and  moreover, 
are  not  too  well  pleased  with  their  position  in  the  Confeder- 
ation. They  love  Bavaria  first  and  the  empire  afterwards. 
Much  dissatisfaction  is  expressed  by  them  concerning  the 
present  government.  Bavaria  is  about  as  important  as 
Prussia,  and  has  her  place  in  history  and  accepts  a 
second    place    in    the  Confederation    with   ill- concealed 


—   H9  — 

dislike.  Every  one  is  familiar  with  the  melancholy 
history  of  her  insane  monarchs.  Ludwig  II.  committed 
suicide  by  drowning,  and  is  succeeded  by  Otto,  his 
brother,  who  is  also  mad.  When  I  was  there,  Luitpold, 
their  uncle,  was  prince  regent,  and  the  virtual  ruler. 
Should  he  survive  Otto,  he  will  be  the  actual  king,  as 
Otto  has  no  brothers  and  no  issue,  and  Luitpold  is  next 
in  the  line  of  descent. 

In  Bavaria  as  elsewhere,  women  are  drudges. 
Opposite  my  hotel  a  street  was  being  paved.  Women 
were  hitched  to  carts  to  haul  the  stone  and  water.  I  saw 
two  women  hauling  a  heavy  cart-load  of  stone,  and  at  a 
moderate  grade  in  the  street  they  became  unable  to  pull 
it.  For  some  time  they  pulled  and  worked  at  the  heavy 
burden,  but  failed  to  move  it  further.  Then  one  of  the 
men  went  to  their  aid  and  pushed  from  the  rear  while 
they  pulled,  and  thus  started,  they  pulled  the  load  to 
its  destination.  But  as  soon  as  the  man  had  started 
them  his  assistance  ceased.  In  other  places  in  Munich 
I  saw  men  sawing  wood.  The  women  split  it  with  an 
axe  and  loaded  up  huge  piles  in  a  rack,  with  straps  which 
go  over  the  shoulder  and  under  the  arms,  by  means  of 
which  it  is  carried.  The  rack  is  set  upon  a  block,  so 
that  when  filled,  she  can  put  the  straps  over  her  shoulder 
without  lifting  the  burden.  This  done,  she  leans  forward, 
lifts  the  heavy  load  and  walks  away  with  it. 

In  another  place,  a  large  block  was  building  and 
women  were  carrying  the  brick,  stone  and  mortar  to  the 
masons.  They  climb  a  ladder  and  usually  carry  the 
brick  and  stone  in  a  bucket.  I  did  not  see  a  "hod" 
used.  It  is  not  an  uncommon  occurrence  to  see  a  poor> 
weak  mother  with  an  infant  child  compelled  to  do  this 


—    120    

work.  You  will  see  at  the  bottom  an  older  child  taking 
care  of  the  infant,  and  when  the  mother  reaches  the 
ground,  she  may  be  seen  to  take  the  sickly  child  in  her 
arms,  nurse  it  a  little  while,  give  it  back  to  the  older  child, 
fill  her  bucket  with  brick  and  again  climb  to  the  top  with 
her  load. 

This  is  the  civilization  that  Matthew  Arnold  prefers 
to  ours;  because  I  have  seen  just  as  bad  scenes  in  his 
country  as  ever  were  or  ever  will  be  seen  in  Bavaria,  or 
any  part  of  the  continent.  We  may  be  uncivilized  in 
America,  but  we  do  not  care  for  a  civilization  that  will 
reduce  our  people  to  such  conditions  as  may  be  seen 
daily  in  any  part  of  Europe. 


©rj&pter   14. 


Austria,    Salzburg,    The    Koenigsee,   Berchtes- 

gaden. 

One  hot  afternoon,  after  leaving  Munich  for  Salzburg, 
at  about  three  o'clock,  we  sighted  the  Tyrolese  Alps. 
Though  they  have  no  great  elevation,  yet  they  are  cov- 
ered in  many  places  with  snow,  which  from  the  hot  plain, 
on  which  we  skirted  their  base,  looked  delightfully  cool. 
At  about  6.30  p.  m.  we  rolled  into  the  city  Salzburg,  and 
were,  for  the  first  time,  in  the  Austro-Hungarian  Empire. 
We  submitted  our  luggage  to  examination  and  passed  out 
of  the  custom-house,  toward  our  hotel,  the  "Tiger  Hof." 

The  German  language  is  spoken  in  Austria,  and 
coming  from  Bavaria  into  this  country,  one  does  not 
realize,  from  the  language,  manners,  customs  or  appear- 
ance of  the  people,  that  he  is  in  another  country.  The 
money  is  florin  and  kreutzer.  A  florin  is  equivalent 
to  forty-two  cents,  and  is  divided  into  one  hundred 
kreutzers. 

After  a  plain  supper,  I    looked   around   the  town. 

The  streets  are  narrow,  the  houses  tall,   and  there   are 

the  usual  number  of  beer  gardens  with   bands  of  music. 

The  town  lies  in  the  edge  of  the  Alps,  which  tower  all 

around  it.     On  a  low  mountain  is  a  huge  old  castle. 

Early  the  next  morning  we  started  in  carriages  to  visit 
the  Koenigsee  and  the  celebrated  salt  mines.     The  road 


122    

is  hard  and  smooth,  winding  among  the  mountains, 
following  the  course  of  the  river  Aim,  which  is  the  outlet 
of  the  Koenigsee.  In  all  directions  can  be  seen  snow- 
clad  peaks;  the  snow  remaining  at  a  much  less  elevation 
than  in  American  mountains.  The  valley  varies  in  width; 
at  first  it  is  quite  wide,  but  narrows  as  it  recedes  into  the 
mountains,  until  in  many  places  it  is  not  more  than  two 
or  three  hundred  feet  wide.  The  current  of  the  stream 
is  rapid,  here  rushing  around  an  abrupt  curve,  there 
sweeping  away,  wide  and  beautiful,  again  rushing,  break- 
ing, foaming  in  milky  whiteness  over  rapids. 

At  many  places  the  water  is  diverted  from  the 
channel  of  the  stream  and  carried  along  lateral  channels 
at  a  less  gradient  for  a  mile  or  more,  thus  furnishing  a 
head  of  water  of  thirty  feet  or  more  for  water  power.  It 
is  diverted  exactly  as  the  irrigating  canals  in  Colorado. 
There  are  many  factories  and  mills  along  the  stream  in 
which  flour,  furniture,  and  various  articles  are  made. 
The  houses  in  the  little  villages  are  old  and  quaint,  and 
solidly  built.  In  many  places  the  roofs  are  merely  held 
upon  the  houses  by  stones,  which  are  laid  upon  them. 

In  many  places  in  Europe  this  is  the  common  way 
to  hold  a  roof  in  place.  Sometimes  the  roof  consists  of 
thin  slabs  of  stone,  which  hold  themselves  in  place  by 
their  own  weight. 

In  this  valley,  as  in  all  other  places,  every  inch  of 
tillable  ground  is  utilized.  Nothing  goes  to  waste. 
Even  the  sides  of  the  streams  are  lined,  in  many  places 
with  stone  masonry,  and  the  ground  cultivated  to  the 
edge.  In  many  places  the  valley  is  picturesque  and 
beautiful  beyond  description.  The  snow-clad  peaks, 
their  virgin  snow  gleaming  in  the  bright    sunlight,  the 


—    123    — 


verdure  of  tree  and  shrub  and  grass;  the  rushing  water, 
clear,  white  with  foam,  and  throwing  spray  which  reveals 
many  a  beautiful  rainbow,  spanning  the  stream  from  side 
to  side,  the  winding  road;  the  mingling  of  shade  and 
sunshine;  flowers  of  various  hues;  the  songs  of  birds — all 
make  a  picture  of  indescribable  loveliness. 

At  last  we  arrived  at  the  Koenigsee.  Before  us  lay 
what  appeared  to  be  a  very  small  body  of  water,  an 
island  in  the  center,  a  wall  of  stone  and  mountain  peaks 
beyond.  The  color  of  the  water  isan  emerald  green,  tinted 
with  various  other  hues — a  most  peculiar  color,  with  a 
most  peculiar  effect.  We  engaged  a  boat  for  twentv-  It 
was  propelled  by  oars,  and  the  oars  were  handled  by 
four  women  and  two  men.  There  is  no  steamboat  upon 
the  lake.  All  boats  are  propelled  by  oars,  and  the  oars 
are  worked  chiefly  by  women  On  our  boat  the  four 
female  rowers  were  old.  Their  sleeves  were  rolled  up  to 
the  elbow;  the  arm  and  hand  brown  and  hard  from  labor 
and  exposure.  One  woman  who  sat  in  the  prow  working  an 
oar  with  a  steady,  monotonous  stroke,  was  not  less  than 
sixty-five  years  old.  One  who  sat  nearer  to  me  told  me 
that  she  had  been  engaged  in  this  work  for  fifteen  years, 
and  said  it  was  very  hard  work,  which  I  readily  believed. 

But  we  were  soon  undeceived  as  to  the  extent  of  the 
lake.  Rounding  a  point,  we  see  stretching  away  before 
us,  a  long,  narrow,  and  exquisitely  lovely  body  of  water. 
It  is  fully  six  miles  long  by  two  miles  wide,  surrounded 
on  all  sides  by  towering  mountain  peaks  six  thousand 
feet  high.  The  lake  was  once,  undoubtedly,  the  crater 
of  a  volcano.  The  water  is  six  hundred  and  thirty-six 
feet  deep.  Water  comes  tumbling  down  thousands  of 
feet  on  the  almost  perpendicular  sides  from  melting  snow 


—  124  — 

above.  With  the  exception  of  the  north  and  south  ends, 
there  is  no  place  where  a  boat  could  land,  the  sides  being 
so  nearly  perpendicular.  At  the  south  end  there  is  a 
natural  amphitheatre  about  three  miles  long  and  about  a 
mile  wide.  At  the  east  end  of  this  there  is  another  little 
lake,  perhaps  a  mile  and  a  half  wide,  and  between  the 
two  lakes  is  about  a  square  mile  of  land,  or  rather  rock. 
The  lakes  are  connected  by  a  clear,  sparkling  stream. 
The  surface  between  the  lakes  is  weird,  grand — huge 
rocks  of  every  conceivable  shape  and  size  are  scattered 
about  in  the  most  fantastic  manner.  Great  gray  and 
brown  walls  of  mountains  rise  thousands  of  feet  on  every 
side.  Above  and  beyond  these  are  glimpses  of  great 
snow  banks;  down  the  sides,  cataracts  of  water,  foaming, 
and  breaking  into  mist  and  spray,  fall  many  hundred  feet 
into  the  lake.  Here  and  there  a  tree  or  shrub,  with  its 
roots  twined  around  the  rocks,  and  following  the  crevices 
in  the  stone,  struggles  for  existence.  It  looks  as  if  it 
might  have  been  the  weirdly  and  fantastically -set  stage 
of  a  theatre  for  the  gods.  Standing  near  the  eastern  side 
and  looking  back  toward  the  Koenigsee,  a  most  lovely 
view  was  seen.  Out  across  the  rugged  amphitheatre, 
with  its  green  sides,  and  over  against  the  western  edge 
lay  the  south  end  of  the  Koenigsee.  Along  the  western  side 
lay  the  water,  in  its  greenest  of  green  colors;  nearer  it 
was  a  lovely  blue,  while  still  nearer  it  was  clear  and 
almost  white.  A  slight  wind  broke  the  surface  into 
myriads  of  ripples,  mixing  and  blending  these  colors  into 
a  thousand  different  tints,  chasing  and  following  each 
other,  breaking  into  pieces,  again  to  be  resolved  and 
blended  into  others — like  diamonds  of  clearest  water, 
flashing   and  blazing   from  green  and  blue   settings — a 


—  125  — 

perfect  sea  of  precious  gems,  mingling  and  flashing  as 
they  move  by  some  unseen  force. 

Again  we  take  our  places  in  the  boat  and  move  over 
the  smooth  surface  of  the  lake,  again  drinking  in  the 
beauty  of  the  scene.  But  the  enjoyment  is  marred  by 
the  sight  ot  the  women  working  in  the  hot  sun,  at  labor 
far  too  hard  for  men  to  do;  and  we  feel  culpable  in  rid- 
ing thus  when  we  learn  that  for  this  work  these  women 
receive  less  than  twenty  cents  a  day. 

The  costume  of  the  Tyrolese  peasant  is  peculiar.  A 
feather  usually  graces  the  hat;  an  ordinary  coat  generally 
braided  or  embroidered;  short  pants  not  reaching  the 
knees  and  usually  made  of  leather;  leggins  reaching  Irom 
the  ankle  to  an  inch  or  more  below  the  knee  and  em- 
broidered or  braided  or  beaded;  it  shoes  and  stockings 
are  worn,  the  stocking  laps  over  the  lower  part  of  the  leg- 
gin;  the  space  between  the  bottom  of  the  pants  and  the  top 
of  the  leggin  is  about  three  inches  and  always  bare — this 
is  the  picture  he  presents. 

Throughout  the  Tyrol,  the  roads  are  lined  with 
innumerable  crucifixes.  They  are  seen  affixed  to  trees 
or  posts  or  fences  at  not  more  than  a  hundred  feet  apart. 
Sometimes  for  a  mile  they  will  be  found  not  more  than  a 
rod  apart.  Some  are  on  a  grand  scale,  with  not  only 
the  crucified  Christ  upon  the  cross,  but  also  upon  either 
side  the  two  thieves.  Some  have  an  arrangement  for  a 
candle  which  is  lighted  at  night.  Some  again  are  very 
plain,  some  only  a  small  picture  of  Christ  upon  the  cross. 
They  are  found  wherever  a  human  footstep  can  go.  They 
line  the  rocky  walls  of  the  lakes.  They  may  be  seen 
high  upon  the  mountains  and  low  down  in  the  valleys. 
The  religion  is  Catholic,  and  many  who  pass  these  cruci- 


—    126   — 

fixes  and  shrines  lift  their  hats  or  cross  themselves  and  it 
keeps  them  pretty  busy  on  some  of  the  roads. 

In  the  towns,  Sunday,  after  ten  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing, is  a  holiday.  Bands  play  on  the  streets  and  the 
beer  gardens  overflow  with  patrons  and  the  patrons  over- 
flow with  beer. 

In  this  section  beggars  abound.  Begging  is  forbid- 
den by  the  government,  but  in  these  mountain  districts, 
of  course,  the  law  is  not  enforced.  In  some  cases  the 
mendicants  are  worthy,  but  usually  begging  is  their 
trade.  They  begin  when  but  an  infant  and  continue 
this  disreputable  mode  of  life  until  death  comes.  Fre- 
quently little  children  meet  your  carriage  and  holding 
their  hands  aloft  as  if  in  prayer,  follow  you  a  mile  or 
more,  clamorously  demanding  alms.  Little  girls  will 
take  up  a  place  where  you  must  pass  and  when  you  ap- 
proach they  will  sing  until  you  are  past,  expecting  a 
coin.  Again  an  old  physical  wreck  is  met,  and  here  and 
there  a  man  or  woman  who  warbles  the  peculiar  "jodel." 
The  prevalence  of  beggars  detract  from  the  pleasure  of 
the  ride  on  any  road  in  the  Tyrol.  They  are  persistent 
and  disagreeable.     They  are  usually  quite  undeserving. 

On  our  return  from  the  Koenigsee  we  stopped  at 
Berchtesgaden  to  visit  the  salt  mine.  If  any  of  the  readers 
of  this  book  should  ever  be  in  this  part  of  Austria,  or 
rather  Bavaria,  (the  mines  are  in  both  countries,  the  line 
running  about  the  center  of  this  one)  he  should  not  fail 
to  visit  this  mine.     He  will  never  regret  it. 

We  were  compelled  to  dress  in  costume  suitable  to 
the  occasion.  This,  for  the  gentlemen,  was  a  pair  of 
overpants,  a  blouse,  and  a  wide-brimmed  hat,  our  own 
coat  and  pants  being  left  behind;  and  for  the  ladies  a 


—    127    — 


pair  of  white  pantaloons,  a  black  coat,  and  a  black  cap 
trimmed  in  blue  and  set  jauntily  on  one  side,  their  dresses 
and  skirts  being  left  behind.  Thus  attired,  our  party  of 
twenty,  with  two  German  guides,  each  member  of  the 
party  having  a  candle,  the  party  being  divided  into  two 
divisions  of  ten  each,  entered  the  mine.  The  entrance  is 
on  the  west  side  of  the  mountain  and  east  of  the  high- 
way. We  went  through  a  long  corridor,  arched  with 
solid  stone  masonry  and  gently  ascending,  leading  into 
the  heart  of  the  mountain.  This  we  traversed  for  a  con- 
siderable distance,  when  we  came  to  an  opening  on  the  left 
hand  side.  Here  we  ascend  a  flight  of  126  stone  steps, 
leaving  the  corridor  we  had  so  far  traveled.  Having  reached 
the  top  of  the  stone  steps,  we  found  ourselves  in  another 
corridor  similar  to  the  one  we  had  left,  walled  up  and 
arched  with  stone  as  the  first.  We  followed  this  for  some 
distance  and  reached  a  point  where  five  corridors,  all 
similar  in  construction  to  the  first,  came  together.  Our 
guide  informed  us  that  these  corridors  all  lead  to  different 
galleries  where  salt  is  found.  He  led  us  into  one  of  these 
and  as  we  proceeded  we  saw  cross  corridors  all  leading 
into  the  darkness,  whither  we  knew  not,  and  I  shuddered 
at  the  thought  of  being  lost  in  this  net  work  of  passages, 
now  nearly  a  mile  from  the  entrance  and  under  600  feet 
of  solid  stone  in  the  mountain  above.  But  on  we  went, 
trusting  to  our  guide  who  is  continually  talking  to  us  in 
bad  German  and  putting  us  to  our  wit's  end  to  under- 
stand him.  Having  followed  him  a  long  way  in  the  cor- 
ridor's deep  gloom,  which  is  scarcely  broken  by  the 
sickly  light  of  our  tallow  candles,  we  heard  occasionally 
reports  of  a  deep,  low,  reverberating  boom  which  rolled 
and  echoed  and  re-echoed  through  the  many  corridors 


—    128   — 

like  the  report  of  the  great  guns  of  a  distant  battle.     At 
first  I  attributed  the  sounds  to  blasting,  and  was  quite 
surprised  to  find  that  they    came  from  the  banging  of 
some  wooden  doors  that  are  set  up  where  the  corridor 
enters  the  gallery.    That  such  unearthly  noises  can  come 
from  so  simple  a  cause  is  one  of  the  inexplicable  things  of 
nature.     We   passed   through   the   door   and   beheld   a 
sight  as  grand  as  ever  falls  upon  mortal  eyes.     We  stood 
just  within   the  solid  stone  wall  of  a  great  chamber  or 
gallery  hewed  out  of  the  salt  rock.     It  was  absolutely 
dark.     No  ray  of  light  can  enter  from  the  outside.     The 
thick  darkness  exceeds  anything  that  ever  before  came 
to  my  experience.     It  seemed  so  thick  that  we  could  feel 
it.     There  were  suspended  in  circles  around  the  gallery, 
in  rows,  one  above  the  other,  a  thousand  lamps  or  candles 
whose  light  was  choked  by  the  intense  darkness  and  ap- 
peared as  stars  might,  from  a  sky  of  sable  blackness.     It 
was  a  picture  indescribable.     The  rows  of  star-like  lamps 
ran  off  on  the  left  seeming  to  mingle  together  and  dance 
and  tremble  in  the  black  distance,  and  return  on  the  right 
like  wanderers  coming  home  with   smiles   and   radiant 
faces.     The  gallery  is  several  acres  in  surface.     Its  bot- 
tom, its  ceiling  and  its  walls  are  salt  rock.     Having  stood 
quite  still  for  some  time  drinking  in  the  strange  weird 
beauty  of  the  scene,    our  eyes  became  somewhat  better 
accustomed  to  the  darkness,  but  it  was  not  until  informed 
by  our  guide  that  we  preceived  that  the  bottom  of  the 
gallery  is  covered  with  water  and  is  in  fact  a  lake  or  salt 
sea.   It  was  quite  true,  we  were  but  standing  upon  a  shelf 
of  salt  rock,  and  before  us  lay  a  sheet  of  water  about  six 
feet  deep.     Finally  we  discovered  a  boat  into  which  we 
got  and  were  rowed  across  the  gallery — a  strange  place  to 


—   129  — 

boat,  and  a  strange  ride  upon  the  salty  water.  We  landed 
upon  the  opposite  side  where  a  transparency  displayed  the 
miners'  talisman,  "  Glueck  Auf " — good  luck.  There  are 
thirty- five  of  these  galleries  and  they  are  used  to  pro- 
duce table  or  eating  salt. 

After  the  gallery  has  been  blasted  out,  it  is 
henceforth  made  to  produce  salt  in  this  way.  From 
high  in  the  mountains  where  ice  and  snow  are  melting, 
pure,  cold  water  is  let  in  by  means  of  pipes.  In  a  short 
time,  this  water  disolves  the  salt  from  the  sides  and 
bottom  of  the  gallery  and  holds  in  solution  about  twenty- 
seven  per  cent,  of  salt.  It  is  then  drawn  off  through  pipes 
to  the  valley  below,  where  the  water  evaporates,  leaving 
the  fine  salt.  In  many  parts  of  the  mines  the  rock  is 
composed  of  95  per  cent,  pure  salt.  This  is  mined  and 
sold  in  the  rock  state  for  packing  purposes.  It  is  what  is 
usually  known  as  rock-salt.  We  saw  large  piles  of  this 
in  one  gallery,  ready  to  be  hauled  out  and  sent  to  market. 
From  the  gallery  containing  the  water,  we  proceeded 
through  another  corridor  and  came  to  a  descent  of  some 
seventy-five  or  one  hundred  feet.  This  we  descended  in  a 
novel  way.  It  was  no  more  or  less  than  a  toboggan  slide. 
One  article  of  our  costume  I  have  omitted  to  mention.  It 
is  a  leather  apron  put  on  behind  instead  of  in  the  usual 
manner  of  wearing  aprons.  We  now  perceived  its  use. 
It  is  to  sit  upon  as  we  slide  down.  A  guide  takes  his 
place  first,  then  three  or  four  get  on  behind  him  and  away 
they  go  until  the  bottom  is  reached.  In  this  way  we  all 
went  down  and  found  ourselves  in  another  galler}-.  This 
was  one  of  the  dry  galleries.  Proceeding  through  this 
we  followed  another  corridor  and  came  to  another 
"  toboggan  slide,"  went  down  as  before,  went  through 
9 


—  130  — 

another  dry  gallery  into   another   corridor,  going  back 
toward  the  entrance. 

We  came  to  another  corridor,  turned  to  the  right, 
discovered  that  there  was  a  narrow  iron  track  like  that 
we  had  noticed  in  the  first  corridor,  and  passing  on  some 
hundred  yards,  came  to  a  small  room  or  chamber.    Here 
was  a  pretty  and  pleasant  picture.     The  room  was  about 
thirty  feet  long,  fifteen  wide  and  twelve  or  fifteen  high. 
Several  walls  projected  from  each  side,  leaving  the  space 
between  them  about  the  size  of  a  door.     Thus,  instead  of 
one  room  it  might  be  regarded  as  several  rooms.     These 
walls  were  the  original  rock  as  it  had  been  left  standing 
when  the  room  had  been  imwed  out.     A   light   in   the 
farther  end  of  the  room  shone  through  the  translucent 
walls  of  salt,  which  held  here  and  there  opaque  substances 
giving  it  the  appearance  of  a  crazy  quilt  designed   by 
nature.     Here  art  was  at  a   discount.     At  the   extreme 
end  of  the  room  was  a  large  translucent  salt  rock,  upon 
which  were   engraved   a   crown   and  the  royal  arms  of 
Bavaria.     A  lighted  candle  behind  the  rock   threw  the 
design  into  plain  view.     In  front  of  the  rock  is  a  pretty, 
little  spouting   fountain,  the  water  of  which  falls  down 
upon  a  pile  of  rocks  and  trickles  away  in  the  darkness. 
We  were  astonished  to  learn  that  this  room  is  directly 
under  the  salt  lake  upon  which  we  had  taken  our  boat 
ride  some  time  before.     The  water  in  the  fountain  comes 
from  the  lake  above,  which  is  readily  believed  when  it  is 
tasted.     Coming  out  of  this  chamber,  we  were  requested 
to  take  seats  upon  some  cars  which  had  been  brought 
along  while  we  were  in  the  room.     We  got  astride  of 
them  and  when  all  were  ready  we  started — whither  we 
knew      not.       Down     the     incline     of    the     corridor, 


py.T-~ 


^r:^ 


.■*$* 


W    *S 


•** 


GO 

Ph 

H 

w 
w 
H 


—  i3i  — 

through  the  intense  darkness,  our  candles  immediately 
extinguished;  past  corridors  leading  away  from  ours,  the 
wind  whistling  through  our  hair;  every  minute  gaining 
speed,  the  rumble  of  our  car  wheels  resounding  through 
the  mines  like  the  roar  of  a  coming  storm;  around  abrupt 
curves  which  nearly  unseated  us — on  we  went  a  mile  or 
more,  and  like  lightning  shot  out  into  the  light  ot  day 
from  the  same  opening  which  we  had  entered.  We 
repaired  to  the  photographer's  to  be  taken  in  a  group  in 
costume,  and  the  visit  was  finished. 

A  delightful  ride  through  lovely  mountain  scenery, 
at  the  close  of  the  day  brought  us  back  to  Salzburg. 
"Time  thus  spent  at  way-side  inns  among  costumed 
peasants  here  in  the  foot-hills  of  the  great  Alpine  chain,  is 
time  gained  lor  the  memory  of  all  future  years.  We  may 
have  been  three  hours,  or  we  may  have  been  four  hours, 
in  going  from  Salzburg  to  Berchtesgaden ;  but  should  we 
live  for  fifty  years,  no  time  can  dim  the  charming  recollec- 
tions of  that  drive." 

The  salt  mine  and  the  Koenigsee  are  in  southern  Ba- 
varia, Salzburg  in  Austria.  The  road  crosses  the  boundary 
between  the  two  countries,  and  lies  along  very  close  to  it 
all  the  way.  Accordingly  we  had  to  pass  two  custom 
houses  on  the  trip. 

Salzburg  was  the  home  of  Mozart.  His  house 
stands  a  short  distance  from  the  river,  an  object  of 
interest  to  all  lovers  of  music.  In  this  house  the  great 
musician  was  born;  here  he  lived  and  labored  in  the 
profession  he  so  well  loved.  Here  many  of  his  great 
master  pieces  were  produced. 

The  usual  number  of  cathedrals  are  found  in  this  city. 


©If&pter   15. 


St.   John  in   Pongau,    Zell   am    See,    Innsbruck, 
The  Brenner  Pass. 

From  Salzburg  we  go  to  Innsbruck,  stopping  on  the 
way  at  St.  John  in  Pongau  and  "Zell  am  See."  The  route 
continuing  through  the  Tyrolese  mountain  scenery,  we  saw 
many  low-lying  clouds.  Thev  hung  low  in  the  air,  clinging 
to  the  rough  mountain  sides,  leaving  the  base  and  summit 
in  plain  view.  Here  and  there  great  banks  of  white, 
cumulus  clouds  were  actually  below  us  in  the  valleys, 
though  we  were  at  no  great  elevation.  Toward  noon  the 
air  grew  warmer,  the  clouds  broke  away,  rose  to  a  high 
elevation,  and  floating  away,  revealed  to  us  far  stretching 
mountain  views,  snow  clad  peaks  and  lovely  valleys. 
We  stopped  first  at  St.  John  in  Pongau.  Here  we  took 
two  wagons  for  a  ride  through  a  beautiful  valley  to  the 
entrance  to  a  wild  and  romantic  gorge  in  the  Alps. 
Alighting,  v/e  walked  along  a  path  or  trail  which  winds  in 
and  out  among  the  hills,  up  and  down,  following  the 
course  of  a  rushing  mountain  torrent.  Climbing  along 
the  rugged  path,  we  soon  passed  over  a  bridge  across  the 
stream,  in  a  sort  of  ante-chamber,  to  the  gorge  with  walls 
of  mountains  almost  enclosing  it.  The  chamber  is 
perhaps  two  acres  in  area  and  the  walls  are  about  fifteen 
hundred  feet  high.    Passing  on,  along  bridges  hung  to  the 


—  133  — 

sides  ot  the  rocks,  we  entered  the  gorge.  It  varies  in  width 
from  ten  to  fifty  feet,  the  sides  rising  abruptly  fifteen  hun- 
dred to  two  thousand  feet  high.  In  many  places  the  rocky 
sides  overhang  the  water,  and  at  one  place  the  only  way  to 
advance  is  through  a  tunnel;  then  up  a  long  flight  of 
stairs,  and  skirting  the  left  hand  side  of  still  higher  mountain 
sides,  we  reached  the  top  of  the  water-fall.  Along  the  gorge 
the  water  tumbles  and  foams,  and  dashes,  and  crashes, 
and  splashes  itself  into  spray;  leaps  over  huge  rocks  in 
wild  glee,  catches  the  sunshine  in  its  foam  and  spray,  and 
sends  back  to  us  a  beautiful  rainbow  in  acknowledgment 
of  our  admiration  of  its  beauties.  But  how  the  water 
does  go  on  down  the  gorge  in  a  perfect  frenzy  of  joy  ! 

The  water  of  Lodore  would  give  but  a  faint  descrip- 
tion of  the  water  of  this  wonderful  glen. 

Retracing  our  steps  we  came  to  the  little  hotel  where 
dinner  had  been  prepared  for  us.  The  table  was  in  the 
open  air,  delightfully  shaded,  on  a  high  place  which 
commands  a  delightful  view  of  mountain  peaks,  snow 
clad  and  beautiful;  valleys  teeming  with  busy  life; 
bare  rocks,  huge  boulders,  green  fields  and  pine  forests, 
all  intermingled  most  charmingly.  I  have  seen  no 
more  interesting  view  in  the  Alps  than  this,  though  it  has 
none  of  the  majestic  splendor  of  many  other  places  in 
these  mountains.  It  is  rather  a  scene  of  pleasing  and 
gentle  beauty.  We  partook  of  a  repast  of  fresh,  baked 
mountain-trout,  with  fresh  bread  and  deliciously  cool, 
sweet  milk. 

Invigorated  by  the  walk  in  the  pure  mountain  air 
laden  with  the  odor  of  pine  and  fir  and  charged  with 
ozone;  a  health  giving  and  health  restoring  atmosphere; 
our  appetite  whetted  by  the  exercise,  we  feasted  like  kings 


—  134  — 

and  queens  at  a  banquet.  And  I  doubt  if  royalty  evei 
partook  of  a  meal  with  as  much  real  enjoyment  as  we, 
perched  high  upon  that  mountain  side,  with  the  lovely 
panorama  spread  out  before  us,  and  the  health  giving  air 
laden  with  the  odor  oi  pines  and  evergreens,  and  cooled 
by  the  great  banks  of  snow  on  many  a  peak  about  us. 
The  meal  finished,  we  were  again  on  the  wagons,  rolling 
down  the  mountain  side,  through  the  rich  and  fertile 
valley,  along  the  rushing  river,  and  brought  up  at  the  rail- 
way station;  and  soon  again  we  were  on  our  way  through 
the  Tyrol  en  route  for  "  Zell  am  See." 

In  this  part  of  Austria,  I  noticed  a  peculiar,  but  cer- 
tainly a  convenient  custom.  On  many  of  the  house  sides 
toward  the  street  are  large  clock  dials,  whose  hands  point 
out  the  time  of  day  to  every  passer-by. 

Leaving  St.  John  in  Pongau,  we  followed  the  course 
of  a  rushing  mountain  torrent,  which  here  and  there 
breaks  into  foaming  rapids  and  beautiful  water-falls.  In 
the  afternoon  we  arrived  at  Zell  am  See.  The  town  is 
small.  It  lies  on  the  west  bank  of  a  beautiful  lake, 
whose  water  is  as  clear  and  sparkling  as  a  diamond,  and 
very  cool.  High  mountain  peaks  surround  it  on  every 
side;  their  tops  shrouded  in  eternal  snow,  their  sides 
partly  cultivated.  The  lake  is  about  three  miles  long  by 
one  mile  wide.  A  little  steamboat  makes  the  trip  around 
the  lake  once  an  hour.  Many  boats  are  to  be  found  lor 
rowing.  The  hotel  on  the  west  side  of  the  lake  is  an  un- 
usually fine  one  for  that  country.  In  every  respect  the 
place  is  charming,  and  leads  one  to  believe  that  an 
American  summer  resort  has  been  put  down  in  the  midst 
of  that  ancient  country.  We  staid  here  four  hours, 
rowing  upon    the   lake,  and  were   drenched  in  a  sudden 


—  135  — 

thunder  shower;  we  bathed  in  the  frigidly  cold  water;  and 
disposed  of  a  good  dinner  in  the  open  air  on  the  bank  of 
the  lake. 

Innsbruck  is  a  beautiful  Austrian  town,  the  capitol 
of  the  Tyrol,  and  famous  for  the  bridge  where  Hoefer 
thrice  defeated  the  Bavarians  under  Napoleon  in  the  war 
for  independence  in  1809.  A  visit  to  the  cathedral  is 
really  interesting.  I  was  about  to  say  that  Innsbruck  is 
famous  for  its  cathedral,  but  every  town  over  there  has  a 
cathedral.  The  cathedral  contains  a  statue  of  Alexander 
Hoefer,  who  led  the  Tyrolese  against  Napoleon  for 
fourteen  years,  and  was  finally  shot  by  Bonaparte  at 
Mantua.  Hoefer  lies  in  the  silver  chapel,  under  a  fine 
monument.  In  the  center  of  the  church  is  a  statue  of 
Maximilian  I.  kneeling  upon  a  sarcophagus,  surrounded 
by  twenty-eight  royal  bronze  statues,  and  twenty-four 
exquisite  historical  reliefs  in  marble.  In  1754,  in  this 
cathedral,  queen  Christina,  of  Sweden,  abjured  Protest- 
antism. A  short  distance  west  of  the  church  is  the 
celebrated  bridge.  Mountains  rise  around  the  town, 
six  thousand  to  eight  thousand  feet  above  the  level  on 
which  the  town  stands.  There  are  many  other  places 
and  objects  of  interest  in  this  town,  among  which  are  the 
pa'ace  built  by  Maria  Theresa,  the  university,  the  tri- 
umphal arch,  the  museum,  the  picture  gallery,  the  ancient 
Capuchin  Monastery,  the  wealthy  Abbey  of  Witten,  and 
the  fine  old  castle  of  Ambras,  built  in  the  thirteenth 
century.  After  a  delightful  visit  here,  we  took  our  places 
in  the  cars  for  a  long  ride,  the  destination  of  which  was 
Verona,  Italy.  We  began  to  climb,  slowly,  up  a  steep 
grade  on  the  railroad,  passing  through  innumerable 
tunnels,  so  many  that  the  lamps  were  kept  burning  in  the 


—  136  — 

cars  to  relieve  the  darkness.  At  one  place  we  entered  a 
tunnel,  in  which  the  road  curved  around  in  the  shape  of 
a  horseshoe,  came  out  on  the  same  side  on  which  we 
had  entered,  and  beheld  the  track  over  which  we  had 
come  some  time  before,  a  hundred  feet  or  more  below  us, 
on  the  opposite  and  lower  side  of  the  valley.  We  passed 
another  train  here,  saw  it  dive  into  the  tunnel  and  pres- 
ently shoot  out  at  the  lower  end  and  fly  away  down  the 
valley  below  us  and  in  the  same  direction  with  us.  We 
were  now  crossing  the  Alps  on  the  celebrated  Brenner 
pass. 

The  railroad  winds  around  among  lofty  peaks,  crawls 
along  the  sides  of  high  precipices  and  rumbles  through 
dark  tunnels,  finally  bringing  up  along  the  side  of  the 
beautiful  Brenner  lake,  whose  green  waters  lay  below  us 
in  the  valley  like  an  emerald  set  by  nature  to  adorn  the 
scenery  and  to  call  forth  our  enthusiastic  admiration  of  her 
wondrous  beauty.  The  air  was  delightfully  cool  as  we 
reached  the  summit  of  the  pass  which  is  the  divide  be- 
tween the  Adriatic  and  the  Black  seas. 

In  Austria,  as  well  as  in  all  parts  of  continental 
Europe,  I  was  surprised  at  the  primitive  sort  of  farming 
utensils.  Wheat  is  generally  cut  with  a  sickle.  Grain  is 
threshed  with  a  flail,  largely;  and  is  winnowed  by  throw- 
ing it  into  the  air.  Hay  is  cut  with  a  very  peculiar 
scythe.  The  blade,  as  nearly  as  I  can  describe  it,  is  like 
the  blade  of  a  corn  cutter,  such  as  is  used  in  our  western 
states.  The  handle  is  about  eight  feet  long  and  as  straight 
as  a  "bee  line."  At  the  end  of  the  handle  is  a  hand 
piece  at  right  angles  and  in  reverse  line  with  the  blade. 
At  a  convenient  distance  from  the  first  hand  piece  is 
another,   which  projects   at  right  angles,  both  from  the 


—  i37  — 

• 

handle  and  the  blade.  With  this  ungainly  instrument  the 
peasant  stands  back  some  seven  or  eight  feet  from  the 
grass,  and  with  a  long  swinging  stroke  as  he  takes  a 
forward  step,  cuts  down  a  prodigious  quantity.  And 
everywhere  a  blade  of  grass  grows,  this  scythe  finds  its 
way.  Not  one  blade  escapes.  And  it  is  not  unusual  to 
see  the  women  swinging  the  scythe  while  the  men  turn 
and  rake  the  hay— indeed,  this  is  almost  universally  true. 

There  is,  of  course,  some  improved  machinery,  but 
it  is  seldom  seen.  The  farms  are  so  small,  in  many 
places  the  land  is  so  hilly  and  rugged,  that  it  can  not  be 
used  as  in  more  level  countries.  The  tenants  are  unable 
to  buy  improved  implements,  and  the  landlords  will  not. 
I  remember  that  in  Switzerland,  we  had  become  so  ac- 
customed to  see  men  "plowing"  with  a  "  three  cornered 
hoe,"  that  when  we  unexpectedly  came  upon  a  man  plow- 
ing with  a  plow  similar  to  those  in  use  here,  we  were 
astonished  at  it.  But  when  we  remember  that  these 
people  are  expected  to  make  a  living  off  five  acres  of  stony 
land,  and  clothe  and  sustain  a  family  and  pay  fifty  per  cent, 
of  all  the  gross  proceeds  to  the  landlord  in  the  way  of  rent, 
we  must  not  be  surprised  that  they  cannot  have  improved 
machinery.  Rather  should  we  be  surprised  that  they 
keep  from  starving.  In  most  places  in  Europe  the  tele- 
graph is  still  of  the  primitive  sort.  The  original  Morse 
receiver  is  used.  The  machine  makes  impressions  upon 
a  strip  of  paper  which  passes  over  a  roller,  when  a  mes- 
sage is  received.  These  impressions  are  then  read  by 
the  operator.  They  are  not  read  by  sound  as  in  this 
country. 

In  many  parts  of  Europe  the  railway  train,  as  it  leaves 
the  depot,  touches  an  electric  contrivance  at  three  distinct 


-  i3§  - 

times,  which  rings  a  bell  as  often  at  the  next  station,  and 
thus  announces  that  the  train  has  started.  There  seems 
to  be  no  system  of  train  orders  in  the  movement  of  trains 
by  telegraph,  as  with  our  railroads. 


©papier   16. 

Italy,  Verona,  Italian  Women,  Italy's  Progress. 

My  first  sight  of  Italy  was  a  distant  view  of  the  plains 
of  Lombardy  from  the  crest  of  the  Alps.  An  hour  or 
so  before  we  had  passed  through  a  snow  storm,  which, 
of  course,  was  rain  further  down  in  the  valleys.  The 
clouds  had  broken  away  and  the  sun  shone  brightly;  the 
air  was  deliciously  cool  and  invigorating;  and  what  a 
contrast  too,  to  the  intense  heat  we  found  the  next  day 
at  Verona,  for  it  was  in  the  month  of  July.  Words  can- 
not describe  the  mingled  sensations  and  emotions  which 
one  experiences  as  he  stands  amid  the  grey  rocks  and 
snow- clad  peaks  of  the  Alps,  and  looks  out  upon  the 
land  that  to  the  student,  the  historian,  the  artist,  the 
Christian,  or  the  soldier,  is  the  most  interesting  in 
Europe.  From  boyhood  we  have  read  of  the  Alps,  their 
avalanches,  their  dangers  and  their  fascination  to  moun- 
tain climbers.  Then,  too,  we  are  familiar  with  the  ex- 
ploits of  Hannibal  and  Napoleon.  As  we  stand  in  their 
midst,  every  charming  valley  and  every  towering  peak 
seems  to  be  an  old  friend ;  the  valley  invites  us  to  ramble 
among  its  beauties,  and  the  peaks  entreat  us  to  climb  to 
their  tops.  But  he  who  has  not  yet  been  in  Italy,  must 
refuse  the  hospitable  invitations  and  hurry  on  to  the  land 
ot  romance,  song  and  art.    He  sees  before  him  the  cradle 


—  140  — 

of  a  civilization  two  thousand  years  old.  He  sees  the 
melancholy  remains  of  a  land  whose  history  stirs  the  very 
depths  of  a  soldier's  heart,  and  which  is  yet  the  home  of 
music  and  art;  a  land  that  has  bounteously  contributed 
to  the  perfection  of  our  modern  civilization.  And  so  I 
staid  not  in  the  mountains,  but  hurried  on  to  the  plains 
below,  filled  with  so  many  treasures  of  art  and  hallowed 
by  so  many  historical  associations.  As  we  go,  I  notice  a 
small  stream  of  water  that  comes  from  "the  mountains, 
and  runs  along  the  road.  Further  on  it  receives  an  addi- 
ction and  becomes  larger,  soon  another,  then  another, 
and  so  on  until  it  becomes  a  rushing  mountain  stream, 
which,  long  before  it  reaches  the  Adige,  becomes  a  large 
river. 

Thus  we  have  seen  the  source  and  mouth  of  an 
Alpine  stream,  and  it  has  been  our  guide  to  take  us  down 
and  out  of  the  mountains  to  the  Italian  plains  beyond. 
At  one  place  the  guard  told  us  we  could  walk  to  the  next 
station  before  the  train  could  reach  it.  It  was  not  more 
than  a  mile  or  so  away  and  seemed  to  be  almost  directly 
beneath  us.  About  thirty  of  the  passengers  availed  them- 
selves of  the  opportunity  to  scramble  down  the  steep 
mountain  side  while  the  train  moved  off  to  make  a  jour- 
ney of  eight  or  ten  miles  to  get  to  the  same  place.  It 
was  a  close  race  but  we  arrived  there  first  and  saw  the 
train  roll  into  the  depot. 

Again  we  are  in  our  compartments,  and  on  we  go, 
getting  further  down  and  further  south,  as  the  increased 
heat  admonishes  us,  following  the  mountain  stream  until 
we  reach  the  Adige,  and  then  along  that  river  until  we  are 
at  Verona,  familiar  to  every  reader  of  Shakespeare.  The 
enterprising  Italian  (induced  by  the  proper  fee),  seriously 


—  141   — 

and  solemnly  points  out  the  tomb  of  the  sentimental 
Juliet;  and  if  the  tourist  is  sufficiently  credulous  he  shows 
the  very  balcony  where  Juliet  sat  while  Romeo  poured 
out  the  affection  of  his  heart. 

I  stopped  at  the  hotel  St.  Lorenzo,  neither  better  nor 
worse  than  the  average  European  hotel.  The  city  is  pleas- 
antly situated,  has  98,000  inhabitants  and  many  places  of 
interest  to  visitors.     Here  we  get   our  first  glimpse  of 
Italian  Hie  and  people.     They  are  much  more  intelligent, 
better  proportioned  physically,  and  better  dressed  than  I 
had  expected  to  find.     If  an  American  forms  his  judg- 
ment of  Italy  and  the  Italians  from  his  observation  of 
those  who  come  to  America,  his  judgment  is  likely  to  be 
quite  erroneous.      The   Italian   women  are  exceedingly 
pretty,  even  handsome.     The  eyes  are  usually  large,  dark 
and  melting;  thecomplexion  rich  and  delicate;  the  features 
regular  and  pleasing.     Their  most  effective  weapon  for 
conquest  is  the  fan,  which  they  use  with  a  languid  grace 
that  captivates  before  the  victim  is  aware.     The  costume 
is  generally  dark  in  color,  a  light  weight,   but  dark  col- 
ored shawl  drawn  over  the  shoulders,  and  a  black  lace 
veil  placed  artistically  and  coquettishly  over   the  head. 
They  are  all  artists  in  the  matter  of  dress.     They  wear 
the  shawl  and  carry  the  fan  at  the  same  time,  but  the  lace 
veil  is  generally  the  only  head  dress.     But  the  veil  never 
covers  the  face.     It  would  never  do  to  cover  those  lovely 
eyes,  and  that  rich  complexion  which,  with  the  gracelul 
movements  of  the  fan  in  that  oppressive  and  enervating 
climate,  combine  to  render  the  Italian  lady  so  fascinating. 
She  is  devoted  to  the  form  of  the  Catholic  religion.     But 
her  Christianity  is  no  deeper  than  the  beauty  of  her  face, 
which  fades  away  early  in  life,  leaving  the  old  woman  a 


—  142  — 

horrible  picture  by  contrast  to  her  younger  but  beautiful 
sister.  On  any  bright  morning  you  may  go  into  any  of 
the  numerous  churches  or  cathedrals  and  find  the  Italian 
woman  kneeling  at  the  altar,  glibly  reading  or  reciting 
her  prayers,  counting  her  beads,  and  responding  musi- 
cally to  the  chanting  of  the  priests;  and  in  the  midst  of 
it  all,  she  will  find  an  opportunity  to  throw  you,  a  perfect 
stranger,  a  bright  glance,  a  pleasant  smile,  and  then 
coquettishly  half  hide  her  pretty  face  behind  an  elegant  fan, 
just  leaving  to  view  her  positively  handsome  eyes  to  play 
havoc  with  your  composure,  or  entirely  put  to  flight  any 
stray  thoughts  of  a  devotional  character  you  may  have 
entertained  when  you  entered  the  place  of  worship.  Her 
religion  is  all  form,  nothing  else,  and  in  strict  obedience 
to  this  form  she  is  a  fanatic.  The"  men  of  Italy,  it  is 
needless  to  say,  are  not  so  religious,  not  even  in  the  form, 
much  less  in  the  essence.  Italy's  religious  condition  is 
peculiar.  Recently  emancipated  from  the  government  of 
the  church,  she  is  swinging  away  from  an  intense  devotion 
to  "form"  to  an  intense  atheism,  or  rather  indifference 
to  religion.  She  is,  perhaps,  no  more  atheistic  now  than 
before,  in  the  true  sense  of  the  term. 

At  Verona,  I  first  visited  the  Amphitheatre  or  Arena, 
which  was  built  under  Diocletian,  about  290  A.  D.  It 
has  seventy-two  arcades,  is  oval  in  shape,  1584  feet  in 
circumference  and  106  feet  high,  with  forty-five  tiers  of 
seats  and  can,  at  the  present  time,  accommodate  40,000 
spectators.  It  is  built  of  stone,  but  the  upper  galleries, 
which  were  used  by  the  common  people,  have  crumbled 
away.  From  the  top  an  excellent  view  of  the  city  and 
surrounding  country  with  the  fortifications  about  the  city 
is  had.     Close  by,  on  one  side  of  the  piazza,  is  "Gari- 


—   143  — 

baldi's  House."  The  principal  entrances  to  the  arena, 
are  at  the  north  and  south  sides,  and  on  each  side  of 
them  are  the  apertures  through  which  the  gladiators  and 
lions  were  wont  to  enter.  That  such  immense  structures 
could  have  been  built  merely  to  gratify  the  barbarous  desire 
for  the  shedding  of  blood,  seems  incredible.  If  human  nature 
must  have  excitement,  and  if  there  must  be  national 
games  to  amuse  the  people,  let  them  be  base  ball  or 
cricket ;  but  let  not  civilization  again  be  disgraced  with 
such  brutal  and  bloody  spectacles  as  this  arena  has  so 
often  afforded. 

Another  interesting  place  in  Verona  is  the  Market 
Place.  This  is  a  public  square,  which  is  by  no  means 
square  in  shape,  and  which  was  once  the  forum  of  the 
Republic.  In  this  square  at  one  end,  is  a  high  shaft  sur- 
mounted by  a  copy  of  the  '  'lion  of  Venice.' '  The  origi- 
ginal  was  formerly  on  this  shaft  but  was  removed  to  Ven- 
ice when  Verona  became  a  part  of  the  Venetian  Republic. 
Interesting  as  the  Market  Place  is,  as  the  former  forum , 
it  is  no  less  interesting  now  as  a  market  place.  Coming 
into  it  at  the  southwest  corner,  the  visitor  beholds  a  large 
open  space,  no  two  sides  of  which  are  parallel,  surrounded 
by  arcades,  under  which  is  displayed  every  variety  of 
wares  that  mind  can  conceive  and  the  climate  render 
saleable.  In  the  open  space,  under  awnings  and  booths 
are  loads  of  delicious  tropical  fruits  of  every  variety  and 
kind  that  the  season  can  furnish.  Under  these  canvass 
coverings  may  be  found  almost  everything  in  the  way  of 
food  that  the  climate  permits  or  renders  desirable  for 
diet.  They  are  generally  kept  by  old  women,  and 
swarms  of  people  surge  through  the  open  spaces  sur- 
rounding the  stands,  examining  the  fruit  and  meat,  and  the 


—  i44  — 

proprietor  urges  them  to  buy.  It  is  a  busy  scene.  But 
a  short  distance  from  the  Market  Place  are  the  tombs  of 
the  Scaligers  who  ruled  Verona  from  1262-1389.  These 
tombs  are  Gothic  architecture,  very  richly  and  beautilully 
built,  and  surrounded  on  three  sides  by  a  very  high  iron 
railing,  and  on  the  fourth  side  by  the  church  of  St.  Maria 
Antica.  Passing  through  an  open  arch,  before  which 
hangs  a  rich,  red  portiere,  I  stand  within  this  ancient 
church,  where  a  priest  is  conducting  services  and  a  few 
women  are  at  worship  in  various  parts  of  the  room,  while 
a  few  more  are  quietly  moving  about  examining  the  rare 
works  of  art  which  abound  in  this  church,  as  if  it  were  a 
mere  museum  of  art  rather  than  the  place  of  divine  wor- 
ship. But  this  is  characteristic  of  nearly  all  continental 
churches.  They  seem  rather  to  be  institutions  for  getting 
money  out  of  visitors,  than  anything  else.  Go  into  any 
Catholic  cathedral  in  Europe,  and  you  will  see  tourists 
walking  about  examining  the  works  of  art  or  listening 
to  descriptions  or  legends  from  the  guide,  while  services 
are  going  on.  It  excites  no  comment  and  arouses  no  op- 
position. It  is  the  custom  of  the  country,  and  of  the 
church. 

Verona  is  literally  surrounded  by  forts  and  forti- 
fied castles.  Here  is  the  residence  of  the  Commandant 
of  the  Third  Army  Corps.  Many  of  these  forts  were 
built  by  Austria,  and  have  been  strengthened  since  by 
Italy. 

This  teritory  was  long  a  subject  of  contention  among 
the  powers,  but  finally  became  a  part  of  Italy,  in  1866. 
and  is  now  firmly  incorporated  into  that  kingdom. 

A  few  months  travel  and  observation  in  Italy  will 
convince  the  most  skeptical,  that  she  is  rapidly  becoming 


—  145  — 

a  great  military  power.  Her  history  has  been  as  peculiar, 
and  as  painful,  as  it  has  been  interesting.  The  mighty 
pendulum  of  her  destiny  once  swung  to  the  side  of  great- 
ness, and  splendor  and  power.  Her  ruined  temples,  her 
despoiled  palaces,  her  battlefields,  her  aqueducts  and  her 
military  roads  which  to  this  day  exist  are  mute  wit- 
nesses to  her  former  power  and  glory.  In  the  Roman 
period,  she  ruled  the  world.  It  began  to  swing  back 
during  the  decline  and  fall  of  the  empire,  the  ravages  of 
the  northern  barbarians,  and  the  confusion  of  the  next 
six  centuries.  Seized  by  Charlemagne  and  subsequently- 
breaking  into  petty  states,  whose  rulers  contended  with 
each  other  by  sword,  and  intrigue  and  poison,  she  finally 
lay  prostrate  under  the  burdens  of  Papal  power,  as  the 
pendulum  reached  the  opposite  extreme  from  her  former 
splendor.  But  the  pendulum  of  Italy's  destiny  has  again 
started  on  its  return  vibration  and  has  been  accelerated 
by  the  genius  and  force  of  Victor  Emanuel,  Garibaldi 
and  Count  Cavour.  It  seems  to  me  that  earthly  ambition 
could  not  desire  more  than  Count  Cavour  achieved  in  the 
unification  of  Italy.  From  her  broken  and  dishonored 
fragments  he  constructed  a  new  empire  that  shall  achieve 
a  great  destiny.  He  infused  into  Italian  life  a  new  princi- 
ple— a  spirit  of  nationality.  From  the  Alps  to  the  Medi- 
terranean Sea,  she  is  now  a  united,  happy,  progressive  and 
prosperous  nation.  Commerce  and  manufacturing  have 
revived,  and  throughout  the  peninsula  are  abundant  evi- 
dences of  activity  and  enterprise. 

Rome  has  doubled  in  population,  since  the  Pope  lost 

his  temporal  power.     Cavour  laid  the  foundation  for  his 

country's  greatness  in  the  school  system,  which  he  caused 

to  be  inaugurated.     Everywhere  education  is  compulsory 

10 


—  146  — 

and  gratuitous.  Italy  has  twenty-one  universities,  seventeen 
of  which  are  supported  by  the  state.  Such  a  spirit  prom- 
ises well  for  the  future.  Though  the  constitution  requires 
the  king  to  be  a  Catholic,  yet  religion  is  absolutely  free. 
A  free  press  and  free  speech  are  also  constitutional  rights 
of  the  people.  The  Senate  is  composed  of  members  ap- 
pointed for  life,  and  the  House  consists  of  508  representa- 
tives who  are  elected  by  the  vote  of  the  people.  It  will 
surprise  some  to  know  that  Italy  has  an  army  of  nearly  a 
million  men,  and  a  navy  of  considerable  importance. 

When  will  the  condition  of  affairs  in  Europe  become 
such  that  it  will  not  be  necessary  to  impose  on  every  man 
a  burdensome  tax  to  provide  the  means  to  shed  his 
brother's  blood?  Considering  the  condition  of  Italy  fifty 
years  ago,  her  present  condition  is  wonderful.  Brigands 
and  Lazzaroni,  once  the  scourge  of  the  country,  have 
disappeared.  Fewer  beggars  are  found,  as  the  Govern- 
ment has  undertaken  to  suppress  begging  altogether. 
Lotteries  and  games  once  encouraged  by  the  petty  gov- 
ernments are  now  discouraged  by  the  king.  Victor 
Emanuel  bequeathed  to  Italy  a  great  blessing  in  his  son 
Humbert.  King  Humbert  is  a  statesman,  wise  and  con- 
scientious. The  people  know  it,  and  their  devotion  to 
him  is  touching.  I  believe  that  Italy  is  destined  to  be- 
come again  one  of  the  powers  of  Europe. 


•ofo- 


©hapter  17. 

Venice  and   Florence. 

Venice  lies  directly  east  of  Verona,  and  the  railroad 
follows  the  Adige  River,  for  a  time,  and  then  traverses 
one  of  the  most  beautiful  valleys  I  have  ever  seen.  Dis- 
tant mountains  line  either  side  while  between  lies  a  strip 
of  land  nowhere  excelled  in  fertility  of  soil  and  beauty 
of  surface.  Hay,  grain  and  fruit  are  raised  abundantly. 
Fences,  as  we  understand  the  term,  are  almost  unknown. 
The  land  is  divided  into  fields  or  sections  by  means  of 
rows  of  fruit  trees.  The  rows  are  usually  about  one 
hundred  feet  apart.  In  the  space  between  these  lines  of 
trees  the  land  is  cultivated.  There  are  no  orchards  set 
out  separately  as  we  are  accustomed  to  see  them  here; 
but  every  fence  is  an  orchard  ol  itself.  The  land  wasted 
for  fences  in  America,  is  there  used  for  richly  bearing 
fruit  trees.  Not  content  with  this  economy,  grapes  are 
planted  and  the  vines  are  trailed  along  from  tree  to  tree 
in  green  festoons  of  surpassing  beauty.  Most  beautiful 
roads  wind  through  these  lands,  lined  with  fruit  trees  and 
trailing  vines.  The  landscape  seen  in  mid-summer  is  a 
pleasant  one.  The  green  corn,  the  yellow  wheat,  the 
fruit-laden  trees,  and  the  festoons  of  vines,  all  charmingly 
mingled  together  and  relieved  by  the  bright  white  surface 
of  the  drives,   with  here  and  there  elegant  houses,  neat 


—  148  — 

villages  and  cool,  rippling  brooks,  all  combine  to  make 
it  a  picture  of  nature's  rarest  beauty.  Through  this  con- 
tinued scene  of  pastoral  beauty  we  roll  along,  as  in  a 
dream,  and  wonder  not  that  Italy  has  given  to  the  world 
the  best  poets  of  any  age.  At  last  we  are  approaching 
Venice,  "the  Queen  of  the  Adriatic.  "  With  what  emo- 
tions one  stands  upon  the  brink  of  the  realization  of  the 
fondest  anticipations  of  a  life  time!  Charles  Dickens 
describes  his  approach  and  visit  to  Venice  as  a  dream. 
To  me  it  was  no  dream,  nor  do  I  think  it  is  to  very 
many.  Filled  with  eager  curiosity  and  keenly  awake  to 
everything,  I  looked  out  across  this  lagoon  and  caught 
my  first  sight  of  a  distant  city  which  seemed  to  lie  low  in 
the  distant  sea.  As  we  come  nearer  she  seems  to  rise  up 
in  pride  from  her  bed  ot  water,  while  thirteen  centuries 
of  art  and  history  look  down  upon  us  from  her  gilded 
domes,  her  graceful  towers,  and  her  stately  palaces.  At 
the  west  the  sun  is  sinking  behind  the  horizon  in  a  blaze 
of  fiery  beauty  which  reflects  upon  clouds  and  sea  and 
city.  No  more  favorable  entrance  into  Venice  could  be 
made,  than  it  was  our  privilege  to  make.  The  weather 
was  perfect;  the  air  balmy  and  soothing,  the  water  lying 
without  a  ripple  upon  its  bosom;  and  the  city,  golden  in 
the  slanting  rays  of  the  declining  sun.  The  lagoon  over 
which  we  are  passing  lies  like  one  vast  mirror  in  its  un- 
broken surface,  reflecting  back  from  its  tranquil  bosom 
all  the  surrounding  beauties.  Emerging  from  the  depot, 
we  stand  upon  a  broad  stone  terrace  with  steps  leading 
down  to  the  water's  edge  in  the  Grand  Canal  and,  for 
the  first  time,  look  upon  the  gondolas  and  gondoliers — 
the  steeds  and  vehicles  of  Venice.  The  city  is  not  built 
upon  spiles  in  the  sea  as  many  erroneously  suppose;  but 


A  Scene  in  Venice. 


—  149  — 

occupies  117  small  islands,  three  of  which  are  of  some 
considerable  size.  There  is  no  space  between  the  water 
in  the  canals  and  the  outer  walls  of  the  buildings.  Some- 
times there  is  a  small  piazza  or  stone  terrace  adjoining  the 
outside  of  the  wall,  but  generally  the  wall  and  the  water 
are  in  contact.  The  canals  are  very  crooked,  having  no 
regularity  at  all,  being  the  natural  channels  between  the 
islands  upon  which  the  city  is  built.  Some  of  these  canals 
are  quite  wide,  some  exceedingly  narrow  and  they  inter- 
sect and  cross  each  other  in  every  conceivable  direction; 
and  the  dexterity  and  skill  with  which  a  gondolier  will 
propel  the  long  slender  gondola  and  turn  impossible  cor- 
ners within  an  eighth  of  an  inch  of  the  walls  and  never 
touch  them ;  avoid  collisions  with  other  gondolas  which 
shoot  across  his  way  from  unseen  canals,  is  something 
wonderful.  On  each  island  are  narrow  streets  or  by- 
ways at  the  rear  of  the  houses,  for  pedestrians;  the  canals 
being  crossed  by  stone  bridges  arched  over  the  water. 
The  most  considerable  and  important  of  these,  is  the 
Rialto,  made  famous  by  Shakespeare  in  the  "Merchant 
of  Venice.  "  How  the  English  bard,  never  having  been 
in  Italy,  could  so  accurately  describe  his  Italian  charac- 
ters and  scenes  and  places,  must  ever  be  a  mystery  to 
his  critics  and  his  students.  The  Rialto  is  a  large  stone 
bridge  consisting  of  a  single  arch  which  spans  the  Grand 
Canal.  On  either  side  of  the  bridge  are  twelve  shops, 
twenty-four  in  all,  and  between  these  is  the  passage  by 
which  we  cross  from  one  side  to  the  other.  Here  was 
Shylock's  money  and  exchange  office.  In  many  of  these 
streets  one  can  extend  his  arms  and  at  once  touch  the 
walls  on  each  side.  By  means  of  the  streets  and  bridges 
one  can  walk  over  the  greater  part  of  the  city,  but  a 


—  150  — 

stranger  will  become  immediately  confused.  They  run 
in  all  directions,  into  courts  and  squares,  from  which 
there  is  no  exit  but  to  retrace  one's  steps  along  the  way 
he  came.  A  friend  of  the  writer  started  one  afternoon  to 
walk  from  the  Riva  degli  Schiavoni  to  the  Rialto;  he 
continued  to  walk,  as  he  supposed,  toward  the  Grand 
Canal,  for  more  than  two  hours.  Imagine  his  surprise 
when  he  came  out  of  a  narrow  winding  street,  upon  the 
Riva  degli  Schiavoni  about  two  hundred  yards  from  the 
place  from  which  he  started.  One  street  often  takes,  in 
successive  parts,  every  direction  of  the  compass.  Along 
some  of  these  streets  are  shops  where  the  rich  Venetian 
wares  are  displayed — glassware,  beads,  laces,  all  made  in 
Venice.  Others  lead  into  the  haunts  of  misery  and  want 
and  penury  and  filth  and  vice  indescribable.  The  writer 
calls  to  mind  a  narrow  lane  which  traverses  one  of  the 
larger  islands.  It  is  about  eight  feet  wide.  On  either  side 
is  a  solid  row  of  buildings  from  lour  to  six  stories  high.  It 
is  evening  and  quite  warm.  As  I  walk  along,  I  stumble 
over  nude  children  who  sprawl  upon  the  pavement.  At 
every  door  that  opens  into  a  small  room,  damp  and 
noisome,  sits  Irom  one  to  a  half  dozen  old  women, 
hideous  in  their  ugliness,  but  dauntless  in  their 
shame.  Younger  girls  whose  characteristic,  Italian  beauty 
of  face  and  figure  has  not  yet  faded  away,  half  naked,  sit 
indolently  in  chairs  or  on  the  pavement.  I  pick  my  way 
along,  doing  my  best  to  get  through  without  contact 
with  the  filthy  creatures  who  leer  and  screech  and  laugh 
and  beg  for  alms  and  swear  at  me  for  refusing  to  give. 
Wretchedness  and  want  and  misery  are  everywhere.  But 
is  it  really  any  worse  than  in  other  cities?  I  think  not. 
In  other  places  the  people  can  disperse  to  various  places; 


—  i5i  — 

here  they  are,  in  a  measure,  confined  to  their  own 
locality.  For,  cheap  as  is  a  gondola  fare,  these  people 
never  have  that  much  ahead.  At  the  end  of  this  street, 
reader,  step  into  a  gondola  with  me.  A  few  strokes  of 
the  gondolier's  single  oar  and  we  glide  by  a  stately  mar- 
ble palace  with  anywhere  from  six  hundred  to  a  thousand 
rooms.  We  pass  through  its  halls  and  galleries,  study  its 
master  pieces  of  art  and  linger  in  the  marble  halls.  Does 
the  contrast  suggest  an  idea  ?  Is  the  social  system  as 
perfect  in  this  world  as  it  might  be  ?  There  is  no  place  to 
which  a  gondola  cannot  take  one.  It  can,  of  course,  go 
entirely  around  every  one  of  the  one  hundred  and  seven- 
teen islands  across  most  of  which  one  can  walk  in  a 
minute  or  less.  There  are  few  squares  or  large  open 
spaces  and  these  only  on  the  few  larger  islands.  The 
most  important  of  these  is  the  Riva  degli  Schiavoni  in 
the  southeast  part  of  the  city  and  which  leads  very  nearly 
westward  to  the  Piazzetti  running  from  the  lagoon  north 
into  St.  Mark's  Square.  The  latter  is  the  largest  and 
handsomest  square  in  Venice.  It  is  surrounded  on  three 
sides  by  time  stained  marble  palaces  which  make  an  im- 
posing appearance,  and  at  the  east  side  is  St.  Mark's 
cathedral;  remarkable  chiefly  for  its  Mosaics.  From  the 
cathedral  one  can  pass  into  the  Palace  of  the  Doges. 
This  square  is  the  centre  of  Venetian  life  and  gaiety. 
Here  on  several  nights  each  week  an  excellent  band  dis- 
courses music,  while  hundreds  of  ladies  and  gentlemen  in 
rich  attire  promenade  under  the  arcades  or  sit  at  tables 
in  the  square  eating  " gelato"  or  "granita."  If  you 
make  an  appointment  to  meet  a  friend  in  the  evening  in 
Venice,  the  rendezvous  is  St.  Mark's  Square,  and  thither 
your  gondola  glides.      At  the   southeast  corner   of  the 


—  152  — 

square  stands  the  huge  old  Gothic  Campanile  or  bell 
tower,  322  feet  high  and  erected  in  911,  A.  D.  Ascend- 
ing to  the  top  of  this  tower  by  means  of  an  inclined 
plane  which  is  laid  around  the  inner  sides  after  the  fash- 
ion of  a  winding  stairway,  the  entire  city  is  seen  below 
like  a  panorama.  Being  always  open,  this  tower  is  a 
favorite  place  for  suicides  who  throw  themselves  from  the 
top  to  the  stone  pavement  below.  I  was  told  that  scarcely 
a  week  goes  by  that  there  is  not  a  suicide  committed 
there  in  that  way.  Turning  from  the  Campanile,  the 
visitor  faces  the  Palace  of  the  Doges.  East  of  this  is  the 
prison,  and  connecting  them  is  the  *'  Bridge  of  Sighs  " 
which  spans  the  canal  between  them.  There  are  one 
hundred  and  filty  canals  and  three  hundred  and  seventy- 
eight  stone  bridges  in  Venice.  The  Grand  Canal  winds 
around  through  the  city  like  a  reversed  letter  "  S"  and  is 
lined  on  either  side  by  old,  historic,  interesting  and 
beautiful  marble  palaces.  In  one  palace  which  I  visited 
are  600  rooms  and  halls  finished  with  the  utmost  ex- 
travagance in  splendid  marble  and  costly  stone.  One 
must  visit  Venice  to  realize  her  lovely  and  romantic  situa- 
tion. No  written  word  or  painted  picture  can  reveal  it. 
Dicken's  "Italian  Dream"  falls  far  short  of  the  real.  In 
Venice,  no  rumble  of  a  carriage  wheel  or  tread  of  a 
horse's  hoof  is  ever  heard.  There  is  no  such  thing  as  a 
horse  within  the  limits  of  the  city.  Instead  there  is  the 
soft  plash  of  the  gondolier's  oar  and  his  graceful  move- 
ment as  he  plies  it  and  the  smooth  and  pleasing  motion 
of  the  gondola  upon  the  water's  placid  surface.  What  a 
contrast  to  other  cities.     With  130,000  inhabitants,  she 


■ 

If    •• 

~Hp.:    >>;1< 

&--; 


A  Venetian  City 


—  153  — 

lies  as  still  and  tranquil  and  quiet  as  a  Sunday  in  the 
country.  The  city  is  pervaded  with  one  vast  restful 
quietness .  Night  after  night  I  glided  along  in  a  dream 
of  happiness  over  the  canals,  under  the  soft  Italian  sky 
while  rarest  strains  of  richest  music  stole  gently  to  my 
ear,  as  if  to  convince  me  that  I  was  in  a  paradise  of  joy. 
Listless,  happy,  dreamy  I  sit,  as  the  gondola  glides  about 
as  gracefully  as  a  swan.  Suddenly  we  come  upon  a  large 
gondola,  supplied  with  light  from  numerous  Chinese  lan- 
terns, and  carrying  a  band  of  Italian  singers.  Following 
come  fifty  or  sixty  gondolas  bearing  spectators.  The 
singers'  gondola  glides  up  close  to  the  marble  walls  of  a 
palace  and  stops.  Then  there  bursts  upon  the  quiet 
night  a  flood  of  melody  such  as  only  can  come  from 
Italian  throats.  Then  they  glide  on  and  stop  under  the 
arch  of  the  Rialto,  and  again  they  give  us  a  concert 
which  the  fantastic  surroundings,  the  dark  water  of  the 
canal  reflecting  and  multiplying  the  many  lights  from 
adjacent  palaces,  the  fleet  of  following  gondolas,  all  com- 
bine to  make  an  incident  so  unusual  and  unique  as  to  form 
an  unfading  picture  upon  my  memory.  I  order  my  gon- 
dolier to  separate  from  the  others,  and  again  in  the  still- 
ness of  the  night  as  we  move  slowly  along,  the  palaces 
and  houses  rise  up  from  the  water  and  glide  away  like  the 
phantoms  of  a  dream.  There  comes  to  me  a  fragment 
from  Rogers: 

"There  is  a  glorious  city  in  the  sea; 
The  sea  is  in  the  broad,  the  narrow  streets 
Ebbing  and  flowing;  and  the  salt  sea  weed 
Clings  to  the  marble  of  her  palaces. 


—  154  — 

No  track  of  man,  no  footsteps  to  and  fro 

Lead  to  her  gates.     The  path  lies  o'er  the  sea 

Invisible;  and  from  the  land  we  went 

As  to  a  floating  city,  steering  in, 

And  gliding  up  her  streets  as  in  a  dream.  " 

My  stopping  place  in  Venice  is  the  hotel  ' '  Aurora, ' ' 
the  host  and  hostess  ol  which  speak  a  very  fair  English 
and  do  all  in  their  power  to  render  my  sojourn  in  that 
city  the  pleasantest  that  I  have  in  Italy.  They  are  care- 
ful to  caution  us  not  to  use  ice  in  our  water,  because  it  is 
taken  from  the  lagoons  and  they  fear  that  possibly  it  may 
contain  germs  of  the  cholera  of  two  years  ago.  They 
insist  that  we  must  drink  wine  and  not  water.  But  water 
was  served  and  the  ice  was  packed  around  the  bottles  to 
cool  it.  A  visit  to  the  Palace  of  the  Doges  is  full  of  inter- 
est. Its  architecture,  its  decorations,  its  associations, 
and  its  picture  galleries  carry  one  back  in  mind  to  the 
days  of  Venetian  greatness.  In  the  library  is  the  largest 
oil  painting  in  the  world.  Deep  down  under  the  palace 
are  the  prisons  where  political  offenders  were  incarcer- 
ated. The  visitor  is  given  a  torch  and  following  his 
guide  through  narrow  passages  between  stone  walls  six  to 
twelve  feet  thick,  down  flights  of  stone  steps,  along  corri- 
dors to  the  entrance  to  rows  of  cells  from  which  escape 
was  utterly  impossible. 

Across   the   canal,  and  reached  by   the   Bridge   of 
Sighs,  is  the  prison  for  condemned  criminals.     He  who 
once  crossed  this  bridge  never  came  back.    ' '  The  dagger, 
the  poisoned  ring,  the  close  gondola,  the  silent  canal,  the 
secret  cells,"  all  bring  to  one's  mind  the  mysterious  history 


—  155  — 

of  this  spot.  As  one  goes  through  her  palaces,  her  churches 
her  glass  factories,  her  lace  works,  he  is  constantly  re- 
minded of  her  former  glory.  But  the  commerce  that 
made  Venice  great  was  destroyed  when  Vasco  da  Gama 
sailed  around  the  cape  of  Good  Hope.  Beautiful  and 
romantic  she  still  is,  and  interesting  she  ever  will  be,  but 
her  commercial  importance  is  gone.  The  day  when  she 
was  wedded  to  the  sea,  and  became  the  Adriatic's  bride, 
and  when  her  Doges  ruled  and  loved  her,  and  she  was 
the  center  of  the  commercial  world,  is  now  but  a  memory 
of  the  past.  In  Venice,  you  will  of  course,  visit  her  pal- 
aces, churches,  piazzas,  Canova's  tomb  and  varied  works 
of  art,  and  perhaps  the  opera,  but  you  should  not  omit  a 
visit  to  her  glass  works  and  lace  factories.  Venetian 
glassware  is  celebrated,  the  world  over,  for  its  designs 
and  peculiar  finish.  You,  perhaps,  own  some  of  it,  or 
have  seen  it,  and  accordingly  you  want  to  see  it  made.  I 
visited  one  factory  which  is  said  to  have  been  in  operation 
twelve  hundred  years.  A  visit  to  the  lace  factory  sug- 
gests the  same  fact  that  the  glass  works  does.  That  is, 
that  in  Italy,  as  elsewhere  in  Europe,  women  are  beasts 
of  burden.  They  universally  have  the  drudgery  and 
hardest  work  to  do.  Seeing  this,  one  can  not  fail  to  feel 
thankful  that  he  is  an  American — that  he  lives  in  a  land 
where  every  worthy  woman  is  enshrined  in  the  hearts  of 
those  dear  to  her — that  she  is  the  ruler,  and  the  wise  and 
loving  guardian  of  the  home  instead  of  the  toiling  slave 
in  the  harvest  field  and  the  factory.  I  have  seen  scores 
of  women  in  glass  factories,  working  over   a  flame  with 


-  156  - 

molten  glass,  in  the  intense  heat  of  an  Italian  summer; 
or  bending  over  a  pillow  in  the  lace  factory,  handling 
hundreds  of  bobbins  for  less  than  twelve  cents  a  day.  In 
making  lace  the  operative  sits  on  a  low  seat  before  a  round 
pillow,  over  which  the  pattern  for  the  lace  is  laid.  The 
thread  is  wound  upon  bobbins  which  have  handles  very 
much  like  the  old-fashioned  handle  of  a  bell  rope.  The 
way  an  expert  lace  maker  will  handle  these  bobbins  is  a 
surprise  to  the  visitor.  They  hang  before  the  operative, 
several  hundred  in  number,  and  she  picks  them  up 
and  throws  them  down  without  hesitation,  never  making 
a  mistake,  very  much  after  the  manner  of  one  who 
is  braiding  a  braid  of  about  four  hundred  threads. 
The  lace  is  held  in  place  upon  the  pattern  by  means  of 
pins,  stuck  here  and  there,  wherever  the  threads  cross  to 
make  a  loop  or  a  hole,  or  a  square  or  whatnot,  and  are 
kept  there  until  the  threads  are  secured.  An  expert  lace 
maker  can,  if  industrious,  make  three  inches  of  lace  of 
ordinary  width  and  pattern,  per  day.  In  one  factory  I 
saw  an  old  grey-haired  woman,  sixty-seven  years  of  age, 
who  commenced  making  lace  when  but  five  years  old. 
She  has  been  constantly  engaged  in  this  work  for  62 
consecutive  years.  She  is  one  ol  the  most  expert  lace 
makers  in  Europe.  She  receives  for  her  labor  the  munif- 
icent salary  of  twelve  cents  a  day.  A  life  spent  at  one 
occupation,  nothing  saved — she  never  received  any  wages 
to  save — old,  grey  and  patient,  she  can  only  look 
forward  to  starvation,  when  her  feeble  old  hands  refuse 
longer  to  pick  up  the  bobbins.  Yet  her  employers  receive 


—   157  — 

high  prices  from  the  Queen  of  Italy  for  the  product  of  the 
old  woman's  labor,  for  this  factory  is  under  royal  pa- 
tronage. 

One  bright  morning,  a  little  after  sunrise,    I   found 
myself  in  Florence.     Nestled  in  a  charming  valley,  with 
the  Appenines  rising  on  all  sides,  and  the  sluggish  Arno 
dividing  it  into  two  unequal  parts,  the  city  is  not  inappro- 
priately called  "the  Flower  of  Tuscany. "     Florence  yet 
suffers  from  the  artificial  stimulus  given  to  her  by  being 
four  years  the  capital  of  the  kingdom.     The  removal  of 
the  capitol  to  Rome  was  a  hard  blow  to  Florence.     But 
while  she  suffers  commercially  and  groans  under  a  heavy 
municipal   debt,  she  is  yet,  in  location,  in  associations, 
in  art  and  in  architecture,  one   of  the  most  interesting 
cities  of  Italy.     Here  Giotto  has  built  a  monument  to  art 
and  architecture,  and  himself;  here  in  the  church  of  St. 
Croce  lie  the  remains  of  Michael  Angelo,  whose  tomb  is 
guarded  by  the  statues  of  the  three  sister  arts,  painting, 
sculpture,  and  architecture,  by  three  of  the  masters.     In 
the  Academy  of  fine  art  is  Angelo' s  David,  made  by  him 
when  but  eighteen  years  old,  out  of  a  block  rejected  by 
other  sculptors.     The  Uffizi  gallery,  the  Pitti  Palace  are 
rich  in  pictures  by  the  masters,  as  also  are.  a  dozen  more 
galleries  both  public  and  private.     In  the  more  ancient 
part  of  the  city  the  streets  are  very  narrow,  but  in  the 
modern  parts  they  are   wide  and  beautiful.     There  are 
many   public    squares   or    piazzas,    richly  adorned     by 
works  of  art. 

Florence  is  said  to  be  the  cheapest  place  to  live,   in 
Europe.     Many  students  of  art  and  music  study  in  her 


-  158  - 

schools  and  galleries,  and  gather  inspiration  from  her 
master-pieces  of  sculpture,  achitecture  and  painting.  The 
general  appearance  is  that  of  solidity  and  ruggedness. 
Her  cathedrals,  buildings  and  palaces,  are  massive  and 
heavy,  the  style  simple  and  severe,  "  without  porticos  or 
columns,  and  their  black  facades,  which  look  like  old 
citadels."  Du-Pays  says:  "Florence  is  the  Italian 
Athens  of  modern  times.  It  is  a  glorious  name  among 
the  glorious  cities  of  Italy,  a  name  ever  splendid,  and  in 
which  are  epitomized,  as  in  that  of  Athens,  the  noble  ideas 
which  have  promoted  patriotism,  liberty  and  the  fine 
arts."  The  bridges  across  the  Arno  are  worthy  of 
notice.  Each  has  a  history,  and  each  is  associated  with 
an  epoch  of  her  life.  Passing  out  of  the  city  at  the  Porta 
Romana,  one  enters  the  splendid  promenade,  which  is 
said  to  be  the  finest  of  its  kind  in  Europe.  Winding 
among  the  hills  with  beautiful  gardens  and  well  kept 
grounds  on  either  side,  passing  palaces  and  churches, 
one  comes  to  the  Piazzale  Michael  Angelo.  From  this 
point  is  attained,  perhaps,  the  finest  view  of  the  city. 
Here  in  the  square,  which  is  a  hundred  feet  or  more 
higher  than  the  city,  is  a  copy  of  Angelo' s  David  by  C. 
Papi. 

Standing  here  and  looking  over  the  ancient  city  and 
at  the  more  ancient  hills  around  it,  there  come  thronging 
through  the  memory,  scraps  and  fragments  of  her  history, 
long  before  forgotten  by  the  visitor.  He  sees  below 
and  beyond  him  a  city  whose  origin  is  unknown,  and 
whose  streets  were  once  trodden  by  Attila  and  hordes  of 


—  159  — 

northern  barbarians;  a  duchy  under  Charlemagne;  he 
sees  it  transformed  into  a  fief  of  the  German  empire  ;  a 
present  to  the  Pope,  he  beholds  it  plunged  into  inter- 
necine warfare  between  the  Guelphs  and  the  Ghibillines; 
then  under  the  protection  of  Naples  and  again  a  republic; 
finally,  the  glory  of  the  Medici  and  the  vices  of  the  same 
family  mingle  in  the  vision,  and  at  last  he  sees  it  a  part 
of  the  Kingdom  ol  Italy.  Now  a  part  of  a  strong  and 
progressive  state,  let  us  hope  that  the  hopes  entertained 
for  her  future  prosperity  and  peace  may  be  realized.  To 
the  visitor,  who  really  appreciates  her  history,  her  art, 
and  her  lovely  situation,  Florence  will  be  associated  with 
his  most  pleasant  memories  of  sunny  Italy. 


©l|&pter   18. 

Rome. 

Rome!  What  memories,  what  historical  associations, 
what  legends,  what  mythological  tales  flash  upon  the 
mind  at  the  mention  of  her  name.  With  emotion  one 
stands  upon  the  streets  of  the  city  which  has  left  her 
mighty  impress  upon  the  world's  history. 

He  realizes  as  he  walks  through  the  Forum,  that  he 
treads  the  very  stones  upon  which  Cicero  has  stepped, 
and  that  the  hard  stone  walls  about  him  have  rung  with 
the  orator's  eloquence.  He  stands  at  the  pile  of  stones, 
where  the  mangled  corpse  of  Julius  Caesar  lay,  he  turns 
and  walks  under  the  arch  of  Septimius  Severus,  walks 
down  the  sacred  way,  stops  before  the  remains  of  the 
Temple  of  Castor  and  Pollux,  treads  the  ground  hallowed 
by  the  Vestal  Virgins,  looks  into  the  Cloaca  Maxima 
constructed  two  thousand  years  ago,  and  which  yet  does 
good  service  for  the  city,  stands  in  the  basillica  of  Julius  Cae- 
sar and  walks  around  the  arch  of  Titus,  views  the  ruined 
and  crumbling  walls  of  Nero's  palace,  and  enters  the 
Coloseum — mute  evidences  of  a  life,  a  civilization,  and  a 
religion  long  since  passed  away,  and  out  of  which  our 
own  were  born.  As  the  visitor  views  the  ruins  of  Nero's 
palace,  there  comes  to  him  the  fact,  if  it  be  a  fact,  that  its 
owner  once  stood  upon  the  balcony  of  his  country  resi- 


—  i6i  — 

dence  and  played  the  lyre  and  sang  "The  Destruction 
of  Troy,"  while  the  wind  carried  the  flaming  cinders  ot 
four-fifths  of  the  burning  city  past  his  palace  walls.  The 
act  of  firing  the  city  being  charged  to  the  Christians,  ten 
thousand  of  them  were  thrown  to  the  wild  beasts  in  the 
Coloseum,  before  which  he  stands.  The  visitor  remem- 
bers that  in  this  persecution  the  apostle  Paul  was  be- 
headed. It  is  not  wonderful  that  a  visit  to  Rome  arouses 
feelings  and  excites  emotions  that  touch  the  depths  of  the 
human  heart.  He  sees  around  him  the  city  that  ruled 
the  world  for  centuries,  and  when  no  longer  able  to  con- 
trol the  political  world,  she  became,  and  continued  to  be, 
through  all  the  darkness,  and  ruin  and  anarchy  of  six 
hundred  years,  the  head  of  the  Christian  world,  until  Leo  X. 
by  his  love  ot  art,  which  was  a  characteristic  of  the 
Medici  family  of  which  he  came,  in  order  to  build  the 
magnificent  Cathedral  of  St.  Peter's,  began  to  sell  indul- 
gences which  brought  on  the  Reformation. 

How  many  realize  as  they  view  the  wonderful  St. 
Peter's  at  Rome,  that  to  its  building,  the  Protestant  reli- 
gion owes  its  origin?  To  what  psrson  is  Rome  not  in- 
teresting? Here  painting,  sculpture  and  architecture 
tound  a  home.  Here  the  Catholic  and  Protestant 
turn  with  interest.  Here  the  student  of  literature  turns 
to  study  the  haunts  of  her  men  of  letters.  The  soldier 
sees  here  the  glory  of  Roman  arms.  The  orator  gathers 
inspiration  from  the  Forum.  But  of  all,  it  is  the  heaven  of 
the  archaeologist  and  the  historian. 

Driving  along  the  Appian  Way,  the  visitor  recalls 

the  military  glory  of  the  empire,  whose  influence  reached 

every  land;  visiting  the  amphitheater  or  the  circus,  he  feels 

the  full  force  of  the  barbarity  of  her  sports;  treading  the 

11 


—    l62    

polished  floors  of  her  magnificent  cathedrals,  he  realizes 
the  peculiar  power  of  the  Catholic  church  to  raise  money ; 
diving  into  the  bowels  of  the  earth  as  he  traverses  corri- 
dors of  the  Catacombs,  and    impressed    with  the  awful 
solemnity  and  mysterious  influences  of  these  retreats  for 
the  persecuted  and  burial  places  for  the  dead,  he  learns, 
as  he   never  knew   before,   the  early   difficulties   of  the 
Christian  church.     Examining  the  crumbling  walls  of  the 
baths  of  Caracalla,  viewing  the  ancient  walls  that  encircle 
the  city,  or  walking  by  the  base  of  the  Tarpean  Rock,  or 
viewing  the  city  from  the  Pincian  Hill,  the  visitor  sees 
the  unmistakable  evidences  of  a  former  power  and  glory 
long  since  departed,  but  taking  their  place,   a  newer,   a 
better,  a  purer  social  condition.     Once  within  her  walls, 
two  million  people  were  solving  the  problem  of  human 
destiny,  but  in  1870  this  great  population  had  decreased 
to   less   than   150,000.     Since   then   her  population  has 
more  than  doubled.     Everywhere  within  the  walls  new 
streets  are  coming  into  existence  and  modern  buildings 
are  springing  up  with  surprising  rapidity.     The  traveler 
while  at  Rome  will,   of  course,   visit  St.  Peter's  and  the 
Vatican.     Can  any  one  describe  St.  Peter's?     In  all  this 
world  it   is  the  grandest  monument   of  art.      Its   origin 
dates  from  the  Fourth  Century,  and  it  stands  upon  the 
spot  hallowed  by  the  martyrdom  of  the  apostle  Peter. 

The  cathedral  is  not  the  conception  of  one  man.  It 
is  a  development  that  tells  us  of  the  growth  of  art  during 
fifteen  hundred  years.  What  master  among  all  the 
painters,  sculptors,  architects,  has  not  contributed  his 
share  to  its  construction  and  its  greatness.  All  the  glo- 
rious names  in  Italian  art  are  associated  with  the  history 
of  this  cathedral.     Egypt,  Greece  and  the  East  have  all 


m 

H 

T) 
W 
H 
M 

I 

o 
w 


—   1 63   — 

been  laid  under  contribution  for  materials,  costly  stone 
and  works  of  art  by  artists  whose  names  are  long  since 
lost,  to  add  to  its  perfection  and  its  finish.  St.  Peter's 
grows  upon  one.  It  is  a  constant  revelation.  Visit  it 
every  day  for  a  year,  and  each  day  you  will  find  some 
new  matter  of  interest  in  its  splendid  mosaics,  elegant 
sculpture,  immense  size  or  wonderful  architecture.  One 
will  not  realize  its  size  when  seen  for  the  first  time.  All 
of  the  proportions  are  so  exquisite,  so  exactly  harmoni- 
ous, that  the  visitor  is  constantly  deceived  as  to  the  size 
of  everything  it  contains  and  of  which  it  is  composed. 
Standing  at  the  entrance  one  will  hardly  believe  that  the 
nave  before  him  is  nearly  700  feet  long — nearly  as  long 
as  three  ordinary  blocks  in  an  American  town.  At  the 
west  end  he  sees  a  chair  and  altar  which  appear  to  be  of 
ordinary  size  and  not  more  than  a  hundred  feet  distant. 
Walking  down  the  nave  until  he  comes  near  the  altar, 
he  perceives  his  mistake,  for  the  altar  is  of  immense  size 
and  the  chair  forty  or  fifty  feet  high.  Standing  near  the 
altar,  his  attention  is  directed  to  a  mitre  which  surmounts 
a  shield-shaped  coat-of-arms,  and  he  is  told  that  he  cannot 
reach  the  mitre.  He  does  not  believe  it;  but  upon  ap- 
proaching it  he  is  surprised  to  find  that  it  is  several  feet 
higher  than  he  can  reach.  The  proportions  being  all  so 
exquisite  and  exact,  there  is  nothing  with  which  to  com- 
pare the  size  of  what  he  sees;  and  being  accustomed  to 
ordinary-sized  churches,  the  mind  compares  what  is  seen 
with  objects  already  within  its  experience,  and  the  result 
is  a  mental  deception.  Even  after  one  comes  to  know 
by  actual  touch  and  experience  that  the  objects  are  so 
large,  they  yet  appear  small  in  comparison  with  their  real 
size.     Here  is  good  prooi  that  the  mind  arrives  at  the 


—  164  — 

estimate  of  distance,  size  and  shape  by  comparison,  con- 
trast and  experience. 

Standing  near  the  entrance  the  writer  was  told  that 
he  could  not  with  both  hands,  reach  around  the  wrist  of  a 
marble  angel  which  holds  in  its  hands  a  bowl  containing 
holy  water.  It  seemed  that  it  could  easily  be  done  with 
one  hand,  but  with  lormer  experiences  in  mind,  it  would 
not  do  to  doubt  this  assertion;  and  upon  trying  it  he 
found  that  he  could  not  by  some  inches  reach  around  the 
wrist  with  both  hands.  At  the  north  side  of  the  nave, 
about  two-thirds  of  the  way  from  the  entrance  to  the 
altar,  is  a  metal  statue  of  St.  Peter.  The  great  toe 
and  part  of  the  foot  have  been  actually  worn  away  by  the 
kisses  of  the  devotees.  Every  devout  Catholic  who  visits 
the  cathedral  kisses  St.  Peter's  great  toe,  or  rather 
the  part  of  the  foot  nearest  to  where  the  great 
toe  was.  The  writer  has  seen  hundreds  of  children  in 
charge  of  a  priest  thus  salute  the  statue,  many  of  the 
children  being  so  small  that  it  was  necessary  for  the 
priest  to  lift  them  up  in  his  arms  in  order  to  reach  the 
feet  with  their  mouths.  There  are  but  a  few  oil  paintings, 
but  sculpture  and  pictures  in  mosaic  abound.  Many  of 
the  mosaics  are  of  a  high  order  of  art.  Some  of  the 
statues  are  master-pieces,  but  many  of  them  are  quite 
ordinary. 

The  visitor  should  ascend  the  dome.  Climbing  for 
a  long  time,  a  circular,  inclined  plane,  he  emerges  upon 
the  roof  of  the  cathedral.  Here  he  is  surprised  to  see  a 
miniature  town.    It  must  be  remembered  that  this  church 


-   i65  - 

covers  240,000  square  feet  of  ground,  and  upon  the  roof 
are  the  smaller  domes,  ridges,  parapets,  statuary,  homes 
for  the  employes,  with  passages  much  resembling  streets 
and  alleys.  One  might  almost  as  easily  become  con- 
fused and  lose  himself  here,  as  in  the  narrow  streets  of 
the  city  below.  Now  the  statuary  which  adorns  St. 
Peter's  east  front,  and  looks  so  beautiful  and  small  from 
the  square  below,  is  seen  to  be  huge,  rough  stone  figures 
many  feet  in  height.  Having  observed  these  things,  the 
visitor  enters  the  stair-way  leading  to  the  first  gallery  in 
the  dome.  What  a  sight!  Two  hundred  feet  below  him  lies 
the  intersection  of  the  nave  and  transept,  where  stands 
the  great  altar  with  the  canopy  ninety-five  feet  above  it. 
The  pictures  which  adorn  the  interior  of  the  dome  and 
appear  so  beautiful  and  delicate  from  the  floor  are  now 
seen  to  be  great,  rough  mosaics,  so  large  that  to  the 
person  this  near  to  them,  they  lose  all  semblance  of  pict- 
ures and  appear  as  only  large,  colored  pieces  of  glass 
stuck  into  the  wall. 

The  dome  acts  as  a  whispering  gallery  and  a  slight 
noise  made  at  one  side  is  plainly  heard  at  the  opposite 
side,  though  inaudible  at  all  other  points.  In  diameter 
the  dome  is  forty  meters,  the  exact  size  of  the  Pantheon. 
The  visitor  having  walked  around  the  light  iron  balcony, 
examined  the  mosaics  and  observed  that  the  letters, 
which  from  the  floor  of  the  nave,  look  to  be  of  ordinary 
size,  are  six  feet  long,  goes  out  and  on  up  the  winding 
stone  stairway  to  the  second  gallery.  Entering  this,  he 
sees  the  first  200  feet  below  him.     From  this  gallery  the 


—  1 66  — 

people  in  the  church  are  as  little  children  to  the  view. 
The  observer  now  sees  large  iron  rings  in  the  sides  of 
the  dome.  They  are  invisible  from  the  floor  below.  I 
was  told  their  use.  Every  two  years  a  boy  is  let  down 
from  above  by  means  of  a  rope  and  is  then  swung  to  and 
fro  until  he  swings  far  enough  to  reach  and  catch  one  of 
the  rings.  To  this  he  holds  with  one  hand  while  with  the 
other  he  cleans  and  brushes  the  side  of  the  dome.  In 
this  way  he  goes  over  the  entire  surface  of  the  upper 
part  of  the  dome,  and  the  time  required  to  do  the  work 
is  thirty  days.  St.  Peter's  has  two  domes — one  within 
the  other.  For  some  reason,  Michael  Angelo  concluded 
to  construct  a  new  dome  and  to  build  it  outside  of  the 
former,  leaving  a  space  of  several  feet  between  the  two. 
Between  these  two  domes,  the  visitor  ascends  a  narrow 
stairway  and  emerges  upon  the  top  of  the  dome,  where 
there  is  a  walk  guarded  by  an  iron  railing  encircling  the 
dome.  Here  one  catches  a  lovely  view  of  Rome,  the 
country  round  about,  the  distant  sea,  the  Campagna,  the 
Alban  Mountains  and  the  Appian  Way  The  ball,  con- 
siderably higher  than  this,  and  which  seen  from  the 
streets  below  appears  to  be  not  more  than  a  foot  in  diam- 
eter, is  now  found  to  be  large  enough  to  hold  sixteen 
persons  at  one  time.  It  is  hollow  and  I  climbed  into  it. 
It  is  oi  metal  and  it  was  a  hot  day.  I  immediately 
climbed  out  again.  Comments  on  the  temperature  inside 
that  ball  are  unnecessary. 

The  Vatican,  the  residence  of  the  Pope,  is  a  palace 
consisting  of  11,000  rooms,  halls  and  galleries.  The 
only  way  to  get  any  idea  of  its  real  size,  is  to  view  it  from 
the  dome  of  St.  Peter's  where  the  observer  sees  it  lying 
below    him    and  is  enabled  to  see  the  extent  of  ground 


-  i67  - 

covered  by  it.  It  contains  a  fine  collection  of  paintings 
and  sculpture.  The  Sistine  Chapel,  with  frescoes  and  the 
"  Last  Judgment"  by  Michael  Angelo,  is  worth  a  special 
visit.  If  the  real  merits  of  an  artist  is  in  boldness  of  con- 
ception and  originality  of  design,  then  Angelo  secured 
undisputed  title  to  the  appellation  of  Master  when  he 
painted  the  "Last  Judgment."  Of  all  the  horrible  con- 
ceptions that  ever  entered  the  brain  of  a  human,  I  think 
this  one  is  entitled  to  the  highest  rank. 

Rome  abounds  in  churches,  many  of  which  contain 
exquisite  works  of  art;  and  nearly  all  of  these  churches 
are  embellished  with  marble  and  columns  and  mosaics 
taken  from  the  ruins  of  the  ancient  temples  Next  to  St. 
Peter's,  the  finest  church  is  St.  Paul's  without  the  walls,  at 
which  the  king  attends  service. 

From  the  Forum  the  Via  di  S.  Giovanna  in  Laterano 
leads  to  the  southeast  until  it  reaches  the  Piazza  and 
Basilica  of  the  same  name.  Every  part  of  this  palace  of 
the  Lateran,  as  it  is  called  in  English,  is  interesting,  but 
by  the  time  the  visitor  reaches  it  in  his  round  of  inspec- 
tion, he  has  become  so  wearied  with  churches,  that  only 
two  objects  claim  his  attention.  These  are  the  obelisk 
and  the  Scala  Santa .  The  former  stands  in  the  centre  of 
the  piazza  and  is  the  largest  obelisk  in  existence.  It  is 
of  red  granite  and,  1597  years  before  the  coming  of  Christ, 
was  erected  before  the  temple  of  the  Sun  at  Thebes, 
by  Thothmosis  III.  It  was  brought  to  Rome  by  Con- 
stantius,  and  placed  in  the  Circus  Maxiums,  in  357  A.  D. 
In  1587  it  was  discovered  there,  broken  in  three  pieces, 
and  the  next  year  Sextus  V.  caused  it  to  be  erected 
where  it  now  stands.     Its  height  with  its  pedestal  is  153 


—  168  — 

feet  and  it  weighs  600  tons.    It  is  a  venerable  monument 
of  the  energy  and  civilization  of  the  Egyptians. 

At  the  extreme  east  side  of  the  Piazza  is  the  edifice 
containing  the  Scala  Santa,  which  is  a  flight  of  twenty- 
eight  marble  steps,  which  tradition  says  were  brought 
from  Pilate's  palace  at  Jerusalem  and  which  the  Savior 
ascended  when  taken  before  Pilate.  They  are  said  to 
have  been  brought  to  Rome  in  326  by  the  Empress 
Helena.  By  the  devout  Catholic  they  are  regarded  with 
supreme  reverence  and  awe.  They  are  now  covered 
with  a  wooden  stairway,  so  constructed  that  the  marble 
steps  are  plainly  visible,  and  no  one  is  allowed  to  ascend 
or  descend  them  except  upon  his  knees.  As  I  was  exam- 
ining a  fine  piece  of  marble  statuary  representing  Christ 
before  Pilate,  my  attention  was  attracted  by  a  lady 
descending  the  Scala  Santa.  She  was  coming  down  on 
her  knees,  and  consequently  backward.  At  every  step 
she  stopped,  reverently  crossed  herself,  bowed  as  near 
prostrate  as  possible,  and  kissed  the  step  above,  then  she 
took  another  step  downward  and  repeated  the  whole  per- 
formance, and  thus  she  continued  until  she  reached  the 
bottom,  when  she  again  repeatedly  crossed  herself,  pros- 
trated herself  upon  the  floor  and  kissed  the  last  step  with 
a  lingering  caress  that  convinced  me  that  she  was  sincere 
and  firm  in  her  belief  that  Jesus  had  once  trodden  those 
steps.  Believing  as  she  did,  I  have  no  doubt  that  the 
descent  of  that  stairway  in  that  manner  was  to  her  a 
source  of  ineffable  joy  and  sublime  happiness  that  would 
carry  contentment  and  solace  to  her  dying  moments,  for 
she  appeared  not  to  be  a  native.  Perhaps  in  her  extreme 
faith  she  had  made  a  long  pilgrimage  to  do  that  very 
thing.     It  may  have  been  to  her  the  full  fruition  of  a  hope 


—   169  — 

that  had  sustained  and  encouraged  her  through  a  life- 
time. Judge  not  too  harshly  ot  such  things.  The  joy, 
the  solace,  the  unutterable  happiness  that  may  come 
from  such  an  experience  depend,  after  all,  very  much 
upon  our  ability  to  believe;  and  may  it  not  be  possible 
that  we  who  have  not  such  an  abounding  faith  may  be 
the  worse  for  its  absence  ? 

While  upon  the  subject  of  churches,  there  is  one 
more  that  must  not  be  omitted.  The  Piazza  Barberini 
is  not  far  from  the  stranger's  quarter,  close  to  the  street 
of  the  Four  Fountains,  and  easily  found.  By  the  way, 
they  have  a  peculiar  way  ot  naming  streets  in  Rome; 
here  area  few  translations:  '"The  National  Way,  "  'The 
Street  of  St.  John  in  the  Lateran,  "  "The  Street  of  the 
Four  Fountains,"  "The  Street  of  the  20th  of  Septem- 
ber, "  etc.  Turning  from  the  street  of  the  Four  Foun- 
tains we  pass  into  the  Piazza  Barberini,  to  the  left  ot 
which  is  the  Piazza  di  Cappuccini  in  which  stands  the 
Cvtivenio  die  Cappuccini — the  convent  of  the  Capuchins. 
Beneath  this  church  are  four  vaults  containing  tombs  with 
earth  from  Jerusalem.  These  monks  bury  their  dead 
brothers  within  these  tombs.  They  will  only  contain  a 
limited  number,  and  so,  when  a  death  occurs,  the  one 
longest  buried  is  exhumed  and  his  bones,  carefully  cleaned, 
are  used  to  decorate  the  rooms  of  the  convent  and 
the  church.  The  visitor  will  find  the  walls  and  ceilings 
covered  with  crosses  and  rosettes,  and  fancy  work  and 
figures  of  all  kinds  and  descriptions  made  up  from  the 
resurrected  bones  of  the  departed  monks.  It  is  one  of 
the  most  ghastly  sights  that  the  eye  ever  beheld.  The 
origin  of  the  practice  I  was  unable  to  learn.  But  this  I 
did  learn,  that  a  visit  to  the  convent  of  the   Capuchin 


—  170  — 

monks  leaves  an  impression  that  will  be  lasting.  These 
ghastly  decorations  are  made  from  the  bones  of  4,000 
monks;  but  the  present  government  has  forbidden  the 
continuance  of  the  practice,  but  the  decorations  are 
allowed  to  remain. 

The  visitor  will  look  with  interest  upon  the  Mamer- 
tine  prison.  It  is  doubtless  the  oldest  building  in  Rome. 
Herejugurtha  was  imprisoned  and  starved.  Here  also, 
Vercingeterix,  whom  every  reader  of  Caesar's  Commen- 
taries remembers,  was  confined.  And  in  this  prison  St. 
Peter  was  confined  by  Nero,  and  in  the  lower  apartment 
is  a  well  or  spring  of  clear,  cold,  sparkling  water,  which, 
you  are  told,  St.  Peter  miraculously  caused  to  flow  in 
order  to  get  water  to  baptize  the  jailer  whom  he  had 
converted  while  in  prison  here.  One  must  be  well  up  in 
ancient  history  not  to  be  imposed  upon  by  the  legends 
and  traditions  which  he  hears  in  Rome. 

The  aqueducts  which  the  Romans  built  to  conduct 
pure  water  from  the  distant  mountains,  into  Rome,  still 
stand  and  stretch  away  across  the  valleys  presenting  a 
fantastic  picture.  They  consist  of  piers  of  stone  ma- 
sonry upon  which  the  channel  that  holds  the  water  is 
built.  The  Romans  did  not  know  that  water  could  be 
carried  up  hill  and  down,  and  so  built  these  great  aque- 
ducts across  the  valleys  from  the  mountains  to  make  the 
water  course  on  the  proper  level  and  gradient  to  bring 
the  water  into  the  city.  One  of  them  is  still  in  use.  They 
are  monuments  to  the  energy  and  activity  and  persever- 
ance as  well  as  the  lack  of  knowledge  of  hydrostatics  of 
the  Romans. 

The  railroad  from  Rome  to  Naples  leads  out  across 
the  Campagna,    passes    old    ruins    and  crumbling  walls 


—  i7i  — 

upon  which  the  elements  have  warred  for  centuries,  along 
the  long  lines  of  ancient  aqueducts,  and  traverses  a  fertile 
valley  between  the  Alban  and  Volscian  mountains.  This 
valley  is  exceedingly  beautiful  but  at  places  it  is  very  nar- 
row and  the  hills  are  quite  high  on  either  side.  Every- 
where the  abundance  of  fruit  trees  and  vines  give  it  a 
pleasant  aspect.  Many  of  the  towns  are  built  quite  high 
on  the  mountain  sides,  visible  for  miles,  and  illustrating 
the  great  importance  the  Romans  gave  to  a  high  and 
commanding-  situation  as  a  means  of  defense  in  time  of 
war.  These  towns  occupy  the  same  sites  as  in  the 
Roman  period.  The  approach  to  Naples  is  heralded  by 
great  clouds  of  white  smoke  which  roll  up  from  Mt. 
Vesuvius.  As  the  train  rolls  on,  the  road  leads  through 
a  lovely  plain  facing  the  blue  Mediterranean  Sea.  The 
plain  is  densely  populated  and  everywhere  are  apparatus 
for  irrigating  the  land.  These  consist  of  wells  and  wind- 
lasses for  drawing  up  the  water  which  are  sometimes 
worked  by  horse  power  but  generally  by  men  and 
women.  The  water  is  poured  into  ditches  whence  it  soaks 
into  the  ground. 


©papier   19. 


Naples,  Pompeii,    Herculakeum.     The  Ascent  of 

Mt.  Vesuvius. 

The  bay  of  Naples  is  beautiful  and  deserves  to  be 
sung  by  poets,  but  it  is  barely  possible  that  they  have 
slightly  overdone  the  matter.  Its  shore  is  crescent  in 
shape,  and  is  almost  one  entire  city  from  Naples  to  Cas- 
tellammare. 

Pompeii  is  sixteen  miles  distant  and  the  space 
between  the  two  places  is  almost  solidly  built  up  with  vil- 
lages and  towns,  the  boundary  line  between  which  it 
would  puzzle  one  to  find.  Around  the  base  of  the 
volcano  is  one  of  the  most  thickly  inhabited  spots  on 
earth.  The  dwellings  and  buildings  even  extend  up  the 
side  of  the  mountain.  Fruit  orchards  are  to  be  found 
two-thirds  of  the  way  from  the  base  to  the  crater.  Here 
in  this  valley  and  on  the  sides  of  this  mountain  multitudes 
of  people  swarm  in  busy  life  notwithstanding  that  they 
live  and  walk  over  the  buried  ruins  of  former  cities,  and 
that  the  angry  mountain  many  times  has  belched  forth 
fire  and  streams  of  lava  which  carried  destruction  far  and 
near.  Pompeii  was  buried  in  A.  D.  79.  You  enter  her 
gates,  walk  up  the  streets,  go  into  her  houses,  visit  her 
temples,  baths  and  theatres,  stand  in  her  forum  and 
realize  what  a  scene  was  here  presented  on  that  fatal  day 


.---'  -,.-.  ' 


**& 


Pompeii. 


—  173  — 

when  she  was  buried  from  the  sight  of  the  world.  Men 
at  their  work,  priests  at  the  altar,  sick  people  in  bed, 
dogs  as  they  lay  on  the  floor,  were  overwhelmed  and 
have  been  found  in  the  same  position  1800  years  after- 
wards. 

In  many  instances  nothing  but  the  skeleton  and  the 
cavity  formerly  occupied  by  the  body,  long  since  decayed, 
are  left;  in  such  cases,  when  the  pick  of  the  workman 
reveals  a  cavity,  the  work  ceases  and  a  fluid  preparation 
of  plaster  of  paris  is  poured  into  this  ghastly  mold,  and 
time  given  for  it  to  harden.     Then  the  earth  is  dug  away 
and  an  exact  model  is  obtained  ol  the  person  or  animal 
that    perished     there    eighteen      centuries    ago.       The 
work  of  excavating  the  city  is  in  the  hands  of  the  Italian 
government  and  every  ounce  of  dirt  is  carefully  sifted 
before  being  carried  away.     The  small  theatre  which  had 
a  seating  capacity   of  2,000   or   more,  is  almost  the  exact 
counterpart  of  our  modern  theatre  buildings.    The  streets 
are  all  paved  with  lava  from  the  mountain,  and  the  pave- 
ment bears  the  marks  of  the  chariot  wheels  and  wagon 
tracks  several  inches  deep,   which    were   worn    into  the 
stone  years    before  the  coming  of  Christ.     The   streets 
are  narrow  and  lined  on  either  side  by  the  solid  stone 
walls,  formed  by  the  house  fronts  which  are  built  directly 
upon  the  edge  of  the  street  leaving  no  walk  between  the 
houses  and  wagon  tracks.     Most  of  the  streets  are  too 
narrow  to  permit  two  vehicles  to  pass.     The  houses  are 
quadrangular  in  form  with  an  open  court  in  the  middle, 
with  a  piazza  entirely  around  the  court  from  which  doors 
open    into  the  various  rooms,   while  in  the  centre  was  a 
spouting  fountain   and  a  reservoir  of  water,   and  some- 
times trees  and  shrubs  and  walks,  or  pavements  adorned 


—  174  — 

with  mosaics.  Painting  and  frescoes  abound  in  the 
houses,  and  many  are  as  bright  and  perfect  to-day  as 
when  painted.  The  baths  were  well  appointed  and 
afforded  steam  or  vapor  baths  as  well  as  hot  water  baths. 
The  old  Roman  was  nothing  if  not  luxurious  and  sump- 
tuous in  his  mode  of  life. 

The  city  was  rich   in  art.     Many  of   the  paintings 
and  sculpture    which  have   been  found  are  now   in  the 
museum   at  Naples  and  make  an  interesting  collection. 
But  in  the  museum  at  the  entrance  to  the  city  of  Pompeii 
is  the  most  ghastly  collection  to  be  found  anywhere  in 
Europe.      It  consists  of  the  bodies  of  the  unfortunates 
who  were  caught  and  buried  in  the  city.     There  are  men 
who  were  undoubtedly  running  to  escape,  half  bowed  to 
the  earth  to  protect  themselves  from  the  shower  of  hot 
scoria    and   ashes,    women    drawn    and    twisted    as    if 
writhing  in  exquisite  pain,   others  big  with  child,  dogs 
curled   up   with  nose  and  tail   together   as   if  in   sleep. 
These  are  all  in  glass  cases.     One  can  scarcely  realize,  as 
he  walks  the   streets   of   the   excavated   portion   of  the 
town,  with  the  huge  volcano  to  the  north  with  the  great 
clouds  of  smoke  hanging  from  the  crater  as  a  perpetual 
menace  of  danger,  that  he  is  not  in  the  midst  of  some 
horrible  dream  and  that  he  will  shortly  awake  to  fmd  that 
the  ruin  and  the  desolation  and  the  disinterred  objects 
about  him  are  the  fanciful  creations  of  a  disturbed  mind. 

Having  remained  in  Pompeii  until  the  sun  was  low 
in  the  west,  we  take  our  leave  of  the  wonderful  place  and 
enter  a  carriage  to  drive  back  to  Naples.  The  visitor 
should  always  arrange  to  do  this  because  the  memory  of 
the  ride  will  be  as  lasting  as  life  itself.  As  we  roll  along 
over  the  hard  streets  we  can  hardly  believe  that  beneath 


■  -'    -  :j*p33i.C'l 


Disinterred  Objects^  Museum,  Pompeii. 


—  175  — 

us,  many  feet  below  the  crowded  towns  through  which 
we  pass,  lies  the  buried  city  of  Herculaneum.  But  when 
we  cast  our  eyes  toward  the  crater  of  Vesuvius  and  see 
the  deep  red  glare  of  the  fire  and  the  volumes  of  sul- 
phurous smoke,  the  possibility  of  buried  cities  and  sud- 
den and  swift  destruction  of  life  and  property  are  more 
easily  realized  and  we  feel  that  there  are  other  and  safer 
places  in  which  to  build  a  home. 

Whatever  else  the  visitor  to  Naples  may  forget,  he 
will  never  forget  the  experience  of  an  ascent  to  the  crater 
of  Mt.  Vesuvius  at  midnight.  In  order  to  reach  the  sum- 
mit of  the  mountain  by  midnight  it  is  necessary  to  leave 
Naples  at  three  or  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon.  With 
what  peculiar  feelings  one  begins  the  journey.  Now, 
perhaps  for  the  first  time  he  is  to  look  into  the  crater  of 
an  active  volcano.  He  knows  the  trip  is  highly  dangerous, 
but  the  fascination  is  so  great  that  he  cannot  resist.  The 
carriages  are  at  the  door.  We  take  our  seats,  the  driver 
cracks  his  whip  and  away  we  go.  In  about  two  hours 
we  reach  Resina,  built  immediately  over  Herculaneum. 
To  visit  the  latter  place  you  must  descend  into  the  earth 
many  feet  and  by  the  light  of  a  torch,  walk  through  the 
streets  which  have  been  cleared  of  obstructions  and  into 
the  houses,  all  the  time  realizing  that  high  above  you  is  a 
thriving  city  teeming  with  busy  life,  which  any  day  may 
meet  the  same  fate.  Turning  to  the  left  from  the  main 
street  of  the  town,  the  carriages  begin  the  ascent.  Here 
numerous  guides  begin  to  present  themselves,  showing 
you  the  utmost  kindness  in  attending  to  your  every  want, 
and  they  follow  along  on  foot  to  the  upper  station  of  the 
inclined  railway  in  the  hope  of  there  getting  employment 


—  176  — 

in  assisting  you  up   the  cone  to  the  crater.     They  are 
very  disagreeable,  as  their  aid  is  entirely  unnecessary. 

The  road  from  Resina  to  the  lower  station  is  similar 
to  all  mountain  roads,  winding  here  and  there,  back  and 
forth,  gradually  ascending  toward  the  top.  It  runs 
through  groves  of  fruit  trees  which  grow  luxuriantly  on 
the  sides  of  the  mountain;  sweeps  past  bearing  fig  trees 
and  plums  and  olives  and  delicious  mulberries,  and  small 
fruits  and  vines.  Here  it  crosses  a  lava  stream  which  in 
past  times  came  down  the  mountain  side,  hot  and  molten, 
bearing  swilt  destruction  in  its  course,  and  left  its  rough, 
black  track  behind  as  it  cooled  into  great  ridges  and 
swells,  and  billows  of  hard  rock  ;  then  it  leads  along 
overhanging  cliffs,  on  shelving  rocks,  and  brings  up  at 
the  lower  station  of  the  inclined  railway.  From  this 
point  and  from  many  places  on  the  way,  magnificent 
views  of  the  valley  and  bay  are  disclosed,  with  Capri  and 
Ischia  as  sentinels  to  the  right  and  left  of  it.  The  sunset, 
seen  from  the  mountain,  was  exquisitely  lovely.  As  the 
sun  sank  slowly  in  the  west,  long  shadows  stole  quietly 
across  the  valley,  shutting  out  the  view  as  if  a  veil  were 
drawn  between  the  valley  and  us,  while  the  last  rays  shot 
up  to  the  clouds  white  and  fleecy,  gilding  them  in  a  radi- 
ance of  glory. 

Hardly  had  the  great  fiery  orb  dropped  from  sight 
when  the  valley  and  bay  again  burst  upon  our  view  by 
means  of  myriads  of  gas  lights,  which  trembled  and 
sparkled  in  the  distance  like  "  the  firefly's  fitful  dance  " 
All  over  the  valley  they  shot  into  view  in  a  semi- circle  of 
beauty,  from  Naples  to  Casellammare.  It  seemed  that  we 
could  look  up  at  one  starry  sky  and  down  upon  another. 


—  177  — 

The  cars  being  ready  to  start,  we  enter  one  to  be 
drawn  nine  hundred  yards  up  the  cone  of  the  volcano. 
The  car  runs  on  a  single  rail,  and  is  propelled  by  cables, 
and  the  gradient  is  more  than  forty-five  degrees,  which 
gives  the  passenger  anything  but  a  highly  pleasurable 
sensation.  It  requires  about  ten  or  fifteen  minutes  to 
reach  the  upper  station  ;  from  this  place  to  the  edge  of 
the  crater  the  way  lies  over  loose  cinders  and  ashes,  and 
by  scrambling  and  climbing  and  crawling  on  hands  and 
knees,  and  a  great  deal  of  slipping  and  sliding,  and  immi- 
nent danger  of  sliding  clear  back  to  the  valley,  one  finally 
reaches  the  crater's  brink.  The  night  is  dark.  No 
moon  sheds  her  light  for  our  benefit,  and  aided  by  the 
light  from  the  guide's  torch,  we  climb  up  the  steep  side 
between  the  end  of  the  path  and  the  crater.  As  we  as- 
cend we  feel  the  heat  and  almost  choke  in  the  sulphurous 
smoke,and  finally  stand  within  two  feet  of  the  edge  of  the 
crater.  Enormous  volumes  of  smoke  roll  upward  and  sail 
away  on  the  wind,  which  blows  away  from  us.  The  smell 
of  sulphur  is  almost  unendurable.  The  red  glare  of  the  fire 
in  the  crater  is  indescribable.  It  is  like  the  smoke-stack 
of  some  huge  steam  engine.  With  an  almost  regular  puff 
the  white  smoke  rolls  out  like  the  escaped  steam.  Ever 
and  anon,  there  is  a  roar  that  shakes  the  sides  of  the 
volcano,  then  shoots  high  into  the  air  a  shower  of  fire 
and  red-hot  stones  and  molten  lava,  until  the  upward 
force  is  spent,  when  they  burst  and  scintillate,  and  fall 
back  into  the  crater  like  a  meteoric  shower.  The  molten 
lava,  white  in  the  intensity  of  the  heat,  strikes  the  sides 
of  the  crater  and  runs  back  like  water  down  a  hill.  At 
times  the  pure  sulphur  falls  in  showers  from  the  ascend- 
ing smoke.  The  rumble  and  the  roar,  and  the  trembling  of 
12 


-  i78  - 

the  mountain  are  beyond  description.   The  swelling  smoke, 
the  shooting  fire,  the  streaming  lava,  the  red  glare  of  the 
crater,  the  awful  sublimity  of  the  scene,  no  human  pen 
can  describe.  Down  deep  in  the  volcano's  bowels  is  seen, 
at    intervals,  the  condition  of  the  earth's  interior.     The 
huge  mountain   throbs,    and   pulsates   and  groans   and 
belches,  like  a  huge  monster  in  exquisite  pain.     Standing 
there  upon  the  crater's  edge,  the  hot  stone  and  cinders 
almost  burning  his  feet,  nearly  suffocated  by  the  sulphur- 
ous  smoke,    awed   into  an   entire   forgetfulness   of  self, 
fascinated  by  the  mighty  display  of  nature,  the  writer  saw 
a  picture  awfully,  sublimely,  magnificently  grand.  Though 
standing  at  the  very  jaws  ol  death,  in#n  exposed  position 
of  great   danger,    yet   fascinated   and   charmed   by   the 
grandeur  of  the  scene  which  so  admirably  displays  God's 
infinite  power,  he  found  it  almost  impossible  to  leave  the 
place,  and  at  last  reluctantly  turned   away,    and  climbed 
down  to  the  trail  and  walked  back  to  the  upper  station. 
He  felt  that  he  had  almost  looked  upon  the  visible  pres- 
ence of  the  Infinite  One.     He  felt  His  invisible  presence, 
and  knew  that  his  Heavenly  Father  had  kindly  permitted 
him  to  see  the  grandest  sight  in  nature.     But  few  experi- 
ences, if  any,  can  compare  with  a  view  of  Vesuvius's  crater 
at  midnight,  when  the  volcano  is  active.     It  was  nearly 
morning  when  I  again  reached  Naples.      "It  was   night 
when  I  beheld  the  scene,  and  the  eternal  night  of  life  shall 
come  before  I  forget  it." 

Mt.  Vesuvius  and  Pompeii  make  the  visit  to  Naples 
a  success.  Naples  herself  was  a  disappointment  to  me. 
There  is  little  beauty  in  her  buildings  or  in  her 
architecture.  Her  streets  are  narrow  and  filthy;  smells 
indescribable  greet  you  at   every  turn,   and  noises  the 


—  179  — 

most  unearthly  offend  the  ear  both  day  and  night.  Yet 
she  is  a  busy  city.  New  buildings  are  everywhere  re- 
placing the  older  ones ;  work  is  plenty,  her  people  are 
energetic  and  the  city  is  rapidly  improving.  Naples  is 
the  largest  city  in  Italy.  The  climate  is  quite  warm, 
though  the  evenings  are  cool  and  delightful,  and  hun- 
dreds of  people  promenade  in  parks  and  public  places. 
There  is  a  great  deal  of  wealth  and  a  good  deal  of 
poverty  in  the  city.  The  buildings  are  all  six  to  eight 
stories  high.  Often  a  street  is  not  more  than  twelve  or 
sixteen  feet  wide,  and  the  buildings  on  either  side  rise  to 
six  stories  or  more.  In  the  better  parts  of  the  city  the 
streets  are  wider,  and  many  fine  and  artistic  structures 
are  seen.  Here  is  the  tomb  of  the  poet  Virgil,  if  we  may 
believe  the  tradition.  At  any  rate  a  tomb  is  pointed  out, 
whether  Virgil's  remains  are  contained  in  it  or  not. 


©hapter  20. 


Pisa,   Genoa,  Milan,   "The  Last  Supper," 
Lake  Como. 

At  Pisa  the  ' '  Leaning  Tower' '  is  the  chief  attraction. 
The  city  is  a  pleasant  one,  in  a  fine  valley,  which  when 
seen  trom  the  top  of  the  Tower,  presents  a  beautiful 
appearance.  The  Tower  is  classed  as  one  of  the  seven 
wonders  of  the  world.     The  greatest  wonder  is  that  it 

* 

was  ever  built.  It  is  one  hundred  and  seventy-nine  feet 
highland  is  fourteen  feet  out  of  perpendicular,  cylindrical 
in  form,  hollow  and  built  of  stone.  Around  it  at  intervals 
of  fifteen  or  twenty  feet  are  verandas  or  balconies,  and  at 
the  top  a  number  of  bells.  It  was  undoubtedly  built  for 
a  campanile  to  the  cathedral  opposite  it ;  but  whether  it 
was  built  in  a  leaning  position  or  settled  that  way  after- 
ward, is  unknown.  This  cathedral  is  the  place  where 
Galilleo  conceived  the  idea  of  the  pendulum  by  observing 
the  vibrations  of  a  chandelier  which  still  hangs  there. 
He  also  used  the  Tower  for  his  experiments  in  ascertain- 
ing the  laws  of  falling  bodies,  and  gravitation.  Thus 
both  tower  and  cathedral  have  contributed  their  part  to 
the  advancement  of  science.  West  of  the  church  is  the 
baptistery,  the  finest  and  largest  in  the  world.  Owing  to 
its  peculiar  construction  and  size,  there  is  a  wonderful 
echo  to  any  sound  made  within  it.     These  are  the  main 


—      IcSl      — 

attractions  in  Pisa.  From  this  place  to  Genoa  the  rail- 
road passes  through  innumerable  tunnels,  reaches  the 
Mediterranean  sea,  skirts  the  base  of  the  adjacent 
mountains,  passes  a  large  number  of  prosperous  towns,  still 
thunders  through  tunnel  after  tunnel,  disclosing  to  view 
now  and  then,  the  blue  sea  on  the  left  and  hills  covered 
with  olive  and  lemon  groves  on  the  right,  and  finally 
emerges  from  a  long  tunnel  directly  into  the  depot  at 
Genoa,  the  birthplace  of  Columbus.  This  city  is  at 
present  a  large  and  prosperous  seaport,  with  marble 
quays  and  a  vast  shipping. 

The  road  now  leaves  the  sea,  the  tunnels  are  less 
frequent,  and  it  runs  through  a  valley  and  finally  out 
upon  a  vast  level  stretch  of  ground  and  lies  along  to  the 
right  of  the  battle  field  of  Marengo,  where  Napoleon 
defeated  the  Austrians  in  1S00.  We  pass  through 
Alessandria,  where  Garibaldi  was  confined,  and  arrive  at 
Turin,  the  most  modern  city  in  Italy. 

Milan  is  a  pleasant  city,  but  the  cathedral,  the  ar- 
cade, and  the  painting  of  Leonardo  da  Vinci  called  the 
"Last  Supper,"  are  the  chief  attractions  to  one  who  has 
been  for  a  considerable  time  in  Italy.  It  has,  of  course, 
many  historical  associations,  and  for  this  reason  the  vis- 
itor is  pleased  to  go  there.  The  view  from  the  tower  of 
the  cathedral  is  wide  and  beautiful.  The  plains  stretch 
away  for  miles,  and  the  distant  Alps  lie  like  dark  clouds 
upon  the  horizon.  The  cathedral  is  chiefly  remarkable 
for  its  sculpture  and  statuary,  and  is  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  buildings  in  the  world. 

In  the  refectory  of  the  suppressed  monastery  of 
St.  Maria  delle  Grazie,  will  be  found  a  picture,  though  in 
a  bad  state  of  preservation,  and  rendered  all  the  worse  by 


—    182    — 

recent  attempts  to  patch  it  up,  which  is  one  of  the  most 
interesting  in  Europe. 

To  one  whose  idea  of  art  is  no  higher  than  delicate 
blending  of  colors  and  faultless  mechanical  execution,  it 
will  be  a  disappointment.  But  that  is  not  art.  The  soul 
of  art  is  creation,  originality  of  design,  boldness  of 
conception,  conformity  to  Nature,  harmonious  relation 
between  the  parts ;  and  all  these  will  be  modified,  com- 
bined and  executed  according  to  the  painter's  life,  habits, 
environment,  soul  power,  purity  and  mental  strength. 
The  mechanical  execution  of  the  masters  is  frequently 
bad ;  that  of  modern  artists  who  copy  the  ideas  of  the 
masters  is  usually  good.  But  the  world  will  never  accord 
to  the  copyist,  the  honor  showered  upon  the  inventor. 
With  this  view  of  art,  the  visitor  will  long  linger  before 
the  "  Last  Supper"  of  Leonardo  da  Vinci.  Why  else  is  it 
that  you  ignore  the  much  better  executed  picture  on 
the  opposite  wall,  and  stand  fascinated  by  the  other,  which 
is  now  cracked  and  damaged,  and  dim  with  age  and 
wanton  neglect?  Ah,  it  is  the  soul  of  that  picture  finding 
a  response  and  a  fellowship  with  the  spectator's  own  soul. 
How  often,  as  you  wander  through  a  gallery,  you  sud- 
denly stop  before  a  Raphael,  a  Rembrandt,  a  Titian,  a 
Duerer,  a  VanDyck,  or  a  Rubens,  and  you  seem  to  have 
met  an  old  friend.  At  once  there  is  a  fellowship  between 
you  and  the  picture.  It  has  an  expression,  a  perfection, 
a  soul,  that  mingles  happily  with  your  own.  There  is  that 
relationship  between  you  that  you  can't  explain,  you 
can't  express  it,  you  don't  even  understand  it;  but  there 
it  is  and  you  leel  it,  you  are  swayed  by  it,  you  recognize 
it,  and  there's  an  end  of  it.  You  are  delighted  to  look 
upon  it  and  to  study  it;  it  reveals  the  height,  the  great- 


-  183  - 

ness,  the  purity,  or  the  passion,  the  sunshine  or  the 
shadow  of  a  great  intellect.  And  yet,  perhaps  a  dozen  of 
your  own  friends  can  copy  that  picture  and  do  immensely 
better  mechanical  work  than  this  old  master  did. 

Ah,  there's  the  difference.  The  master  put  on  can- 
vas a  great  thought,  an  idea.  The  amateur  displays  only 
mechanical  execution.  He  can't  steal  the  conception  of 
the  master-piece  ;  he  can  copy  it,  but  it  lacks  that  subtle 
something  that  reveals  the  master's  grand  thought.  The 
amateur  don't  understand  that,  and  no  man  can  do 
thoroughly  what  he  don't  understand.  The  truly  great 
artist  needs  no  copyright.     His  work  is  secure. 

"The  Last  Supper,"  is  the  only  worthy  representa- 
tive of  Leonardo's  productions  now  in  existence.  This 
work  has  been  more  extensively  copied,  perhaps,  than 
any  other  master-piece.  Yet  the  original  alone  is  said  to 
exhibit  to  its  full  extent  the  emotions  which  the  master 
intended  to  express,  and  which  the  best  copies  fail  to 
reproduce.  Goethe,  the  soul-poet  of  Germany,  thus 
interprets  this  great  work:  "The  shock  by  which  the 
artist  represents  the  company  at  the  sacred  repast  as 
deeply  agitated,  has  been  produced  by  the  Master's 
words:  'One  of  you  shall  betray  me.'  They  have 
been  pronounced;  the  whole  party  is  in  dismay;  while 
He  Himself,  bows  his  head  with  downcast  eyes.  His 
whole  attitude,  the  motion  of  His  arms  and  hands,  all 
seem  to  repeat  with  heavenly  resignation,  and  His  silence 
to  confirm,  the  mournful  words — it  can  not  be  otherwise  ; 
one  of  you  shall  betray  Me."  Think  now  of  the  temer- 
ity of  the  man  who  chooses  such  a  subject  for  his  canvas  ; 
of  his  power  of  conception  in  properly  giving  to  the  faces 
of  these  disciples  the    look  of  despair,  or  amazement,  or 


—  184  — 

guilt,  as  they  must  be  mingled  and  blended  ;  and  then 
the  appearance  of  heavenly  resignation  of  Christ  Himself. 
Upon  that  central  figure  of  the  picture  there  must  be 
painted  the  look  of  a  purely  human  being  in  despair  and 
resignation,  and  the  holy  light  and  mellow  radiance  of  a 
god,  with  infinite  love  and  supreme  compassion  for  the 
ignorant  instrument  of  God's  great  purposes,  who  will 
betray  him.  Of  the  man  who  could  do  this,  it  is  not  too 
much  to  say,  "that  with  Leonardo  a  new  era  in  Italian 
painting  was  inaugurated — that  the  development  of  art 
had  attained  its  perfection." 

Let  us  turn  from  this  picture  of  human  production 
to  one  produced  by  a  mightier  Artist.  I  refer  to  Lake 
Como.  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  it  at  the  town  of  Como, 
but  it  first  burst  upon  my  view  in  all  its  loveliness  at 
Menaggio.  This  town  is  picturesquely  situated.  On 
the  hillsides  back  of  it  grow  fig  and  olive  trees  in  abund- 
ance. In  front  of  it  is  the  lake  which  artists  delight  to 
paint;  of  which  poets  love  to  sing.  Around  the  lake 
are  many  villas  of  the  Milanese  aristocracy,  occupying 
lovely  and  commanding  situations.  The  Villa  Carlotta  is 
a  type  of  them. 

"A  palace  lifting  to  eternal  summer 

Its  marble  walls,  from  out  a  glassy  bower 

Of  coolest  foliage,  musical  with  birds, 

While  the  perfumed  light 
Stole  through  the  mists  of  alabaster  lamps, 
And  every  air  was  heavy  with  the  sighs 
Of  orange-groves,  and  music  from  sweet  lutes, 
And  murmurs  of  low  fountains  that  gush  forth, 
I'  the  midst  of  roses  " 

The    grounds    are     beautiful    beyond    description. 
The    garden    is    laid    out    on    a     mountain     side.      A 


-  i*5  - 

long  line  of  stone  steps  leads  through  sweet-smelling 
shrubs,  past  diminutive  cascades,  to  the  villa  and  garden- 
The  villa  is  rich  in  statuary  and  paintings.  The  grounds 
have  been  laid  out  and  kept  by  master  hands.  Tropical 
trees  of  various  kinds  grow  in  abundance.  There  are 
magnolias  in  bloom,  with  great,  white,  wax-like  flowers, 
palmettos  and  date  palms,  eucalyptus  and  olive  trees, 
begonias,  westeria  vines,  banana  plants,  Himalaya  cyprus, 
fig  trees,  aloes  and  bamboo,  oleanders  in  blossom,  min- 
gled with  pomegranates  and  rhododendrons.  Countless 
other  trees  and  vines  adorn  these  grounds.  Lovely  walks 
and  shady  lanes  wind  among  the  trees  and  shrubs,  with  here 
and  there  a  summer  house  which  affords  a  splendid  view 
of  the  lake.  "We  had  drunk  in  all  the  riparian  delights 
of  this  delicious  inland  sea,  but  we  had  conceived  no 
such  wealth  of  beauty,  of  situation,  of  vegetation,  and  of 
scrupulous  horticulture  as  greeted  us  here  at  every  turn. 
It  is  useless  to  attempt  description  ;  I  simply  commend 
this  charmed  spot  as  the  best  earthly  representation  of  a 
veritable  fairy-land."  But  all  this  is  but  a  tithe  of  the  beauty 
of  the  lake  itself.  The  lake  is  long  and  narrow,  with  high 
mountains  on  either  side  rising  directly  from  the  water's 
edge  seven  thousand  feet.  Upon  their  steep  sides,  culti- 
vated upon  terraces,  grow  vines  and  trees.  Shrubs  and 
native  trees  scattered  about  by  the  hand  of  nature, 
present  a  sweet  loveliness.  The  water  is  blue  and  green, 
and  purple  and  golden,  and  a  thousand  other  indescrib- 
able and  varying  hues  and  tints,  as  the  wind  causes  its 
surface  to  ripple  beneath  the  sunlight.  The  lake, 
though  very  long,  is  not  continuous  in  any  one  direction, 
and  as  we  glide  over  its  surface  we  are  constantly 
surprised  and  delighted  by  new  beauties  flashing  upon  us 


—  1 86  — 

in  rapid  succession.  The  sky  above  seems  to  catch  up 
and  reflect  back  the  colors  of  the  water.  The  sun  falls 
behind  the  towering  mountains  at  the  west,  and  casts  long 
shadows  across  the  lake,  while  the  eastern  mountains  are 
bathed  in  golden  light.  Clusters  of  houses  are  seen  here 
and  there,  from  the  water  to  the  mountain  tops.  Clouds 
hang  in  fantastic  form  and  cluster  about  it.  Churches 
seem  to  hang  to  the  steep  hillsides  as  if  here  the  law  of 
gravitation  were  suspended.  Bold  bluffs  and  gray 
mountain  peaks  watch  the  lake  with  eternal  vigilance.  All 
is  a  scene  of  sweet,  wild  indescribable  loveliness.  The 
intelligence  that  conceived  the  creation  of  this  picture  we 
can  not  realize.  It  is  as  high  above  human  intelligence  as 
nature    is  above  art.     It  is  the  rarest,    choicest  gem  of 

nature's   gentler   beauty. 

"A  clear  lake,  margined  by  fruits  of  gold, 
And  whispering  myrtles;  glassing  softest  skies, 
As  cloudless,  save  with  rare  and  roseate  shadows 
As  I  would  have  thy  fate." 
But  what  of  the  people    who  live  in    this   land  of 
beauty  where  nature  and  art  and  literature  have  com- 
bined to  make  the  land  of  interest  to  every  nationality  on 
earth?     It  is  sadly  true  that  her  history  and  conditions 
have  left  an  ugly  impress  upon  the  masses.      "Years  of 
neglect,   oppression,   and  misrule  have  been  at  work  to 
change  their  nature  and    reduce  their  spirit;    miserable 
jealousies,  fomented  by  petty  Princes  to  whom  union  was 
destruction,  and  division,  strength,  have  been  a  canker  at 
the  root  of  their  nationality,    and  have  barbarized  their 
language;  but  the  good  that  was  in  them  ever  is  in  them 
yet,  and  a  noble  people  may  be,  one  day,  raised  up  from 
these  ashes."     So  spoke  Charles  Dickens  in  1845,  but 
little  did  he  dream  that  to-day,   in  very  many  respects, 


-  i87  - 

his  prediction  would  be  fulfilled.  The  effect  of  600  years 
of  oppression  and  cruelty  and  misrule  cannot  be  lifted 
from  them  in  a  single  generation.  It  is  astonishing  that 
under  the  circumstances  they  have  so  quickly  recovered 
and  are,  to-day,  one  of  the  most  progressive  people  in 
Europe.  The  Italians  have  before  them  a  great  oppor- 
tunity, and,  I  believe,  a  great  destiny. 

The  principal  industries  of  Italy  are  agriculture,  min- 
ing, commerce,  manufacturing  and  fishing.  The  agri- 
cultural pursuits  are  quite  primitive.  There  is  but  little 
improved  farm  machinery.  Threshing  is  done  with  a 
flail,  or  the  grain  is  tramped  out,  and  very  seldom  is  a 
threshing  machine  seen.  Instead  of  using  fanning  mills, 
the  grain  is  cleaned  by  throwing  it  into  the  air,  when  the 
wind  blows  away  the  chaffand  the  grain  falls  to  the  earth. 
In  many  cases  the  horses  are  guided,  not  by  a  bit  in  the 
mouth,  but  by  a  ring  around  the  nose  to  which  the  line, 
usually  a  rope,  is  attached.  Of  course  this  is  not  the 
case  in  the  cities.  Many  drivers  put  straw  hats  on  their 
horses  heads  to  protect  them  from  the  heat  of  the  sun. 
I  am  convinced  that,  outside  of  the  lower  classes  in  the 
cities,  the  Italian  people  are  the  most  industrious  in 
Europe.  One  of  the  principal  crops  is  hemp,  which 
grows  luxuriantly  everywhere  and  resembles  a  very  rank 
growth  of  nettles. 

The  cab  drivers  of  Italv  are  characters.  They  have 
no  idea  of  honesty.  They  will  lie,  cheat,  and,  if  it  were 
possible,  would  rob  one.  They  will  agree  to  drive  you 
to  a  certain  place  for  a  stipulated  sum,  and  never  fail 
when  the  journey  is  done,  to  have  an  excuse  to  charge 
an  extra  fee.  They  have  no  method  in  their  driving- 
They  never  do  the  same  thing  twice  alike-     They  charge 


—  188  — 

by  the  hour  and  never  fail  to  have  the  time  run  rive 
minutes  or  more  into  the  next  hour  so  as  to  charge  for 
the  ensuing  hour  also.  The  only  way  to  get  ahead  of 
them  is  to  get  into  the  cab  again  and  make  them  drive 
out  the  hour.  They  will  then  throw  off  the  "five  min- 
utes. "  The  only  thing  they  do  with  any  regularity  is 
to  try  to  drive  over  every  pedestrian  in  the  streets.  They 
will  drive  from  one  side  of  the  street  to  another  with  no 
apparent  object  for  the  change  except  to  annoy  and  en- 
danger pedestrians. 

Italy  owes  much  of  her  commercial  prosperity 
to  the  enterprise  of  the  French  who  pushed  to  comple- 
tion the  Suez  Canal.  This  achievement  restored  Italy  to 
the  position  of  the  great  depot  between  the  West  and  the 
East,  which  position  she  lost  when  Da  Gama  sailed 
around  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope.  The  commerce  of  the 
East  touches  first  at  Italy's  shores  after  coming  through 
the  Canal  and  the  Mediterranean  Sea.  Thence  it  is  car- 
ried by  rail  through  the  Mt.  Cennis  tunnel  to  France. 
When  this  had  been  accomplished,  Germany,  not  to  be 
outdone  by  France,  pushed  to  completion  the  St.  Gott- 
hard  tunnel.  This  rivalry  by  these  great  powers  resulted 
in  the  commercial  prosperity  of  Italy  and  afforded  an  ac- 
cessible market  for  Italian  manufactures. 

Her  language,  musical,  soft  and  rythmic,  has  much 
in  common  with  the  Latin  from  which  it  came.  By  some 
it  is  asserted  that  Latin  was  the  court  language,  and  the 
vernacular  of  the  rich  and  aristocratic,  while  the  Italian 
was  that  used  by  the  common  people;  that  in  the  ruin  of 
Roman  civilization  the  Latin  was  abandoned  and  the 
Italian  came  down,  much  corrupted  to  Dante's  lime, 
when  he  rescued  it  and  gave  it  a  distinctive  cast.     How- 


—  1 89  — 

ever  it  originated,  certain  it  is  that  the  present  language 
is  smooth,  beautiful,  easily  learned,  and  perfectly  adapted 
to  poetry  and  song. 

Allow  me  to  close  this  chapter  by  paraphrasing  a 
quotation  from  Charles  Dickens:  "Let  us  part  from 
Italy,  *  *  *  *  affectionately,  in  our  admiration  of 
the  beauties  natural  and  artificial,  of  which  it  is  full  to 
overflowing,  and  in  our  tenderness  towards  a  people, 
naturally  well  disposed,  and  patient,  and  sweet-tempered, 
%    %    *    *    ancj  ]et   us   not   remember   Italy    the    less 

regardfully,  because  in  every  fragment  of  her  fallen  tem- 
ples, and  every  stone  of  her  deserted  palaces  and  prisons, 
she  helps  to  inculcate  the  lesson  that  the  wheel  of  Time 
is  rolling  for  an  end,  and  that  the  world  is  in  all  great 
essentials,  better,  greater,  more  forbearing  and  more 
hopeful  as  it  rolls.  " 


©l^apter   21. 


Lugano,  Mt.  San  Salvatore,  The  St.  Gotthard 
Pass,  Swiss  Character,  The  Rigi. 

Lugano,  Switzerland,  is  situated  on  the  north  side 
of  the  beautiful  lake  of  the  same  name.  The  Alps  rise 
high  above  it  on  all  sides.  The  water  ol  the  lake  is  a 
peculiar  blue  in  color  which  I  have  seen  nowhere  else. 
The  effect  produced  when  a  light  wind  lipples  its  surface 
is  striking.  Our  first  view  of  Swiss  scenery  was  between 
Lugano  and  the  town  of  Como,  between  which  places 
the  boundary  line  runs. 

The  lake  of  Lugano  is  of  considerable  size  but  very 
narrow  and  it  curls  around  the  bases  of  high  mountains 
in  such  a  way  as  to  present  but  a  small  portion  of  its 
surface  to  view  at  one  time  unless  one  climbs  to  the  sum- 
mit of  Mount  San  Salvatore,  where  a  large  portion  can 
be  seen.  Several  steamboats  make  regular  trips  around 
the  lake  which  afford  a  delightful  excursion.  The  town 
of  Lugano  is  a  characteristic  Italian  town,  though  in 
Swiss  territory.  The  situation  could  not  be  lovelier. 
The  hotel  at  which  we  stopped,  while  here,  was  a  large 
stone  building  with  a  square  court,  paved  with  stone, 
large  rooms  and  wide  halls.  It  was  once  a  royal  palace 
before  Switzerland  became  a  republic.  Southwest  of 
the  town  rises  Mount  San  Salvatore,  from  whose  summit  a 


—  igi  — 

magnificent  view  is  obtained.     The  lake  is  seen  for  miles 
stretching  around  its  base  reflecting  back  the  rays  of  the 
sun  in  various  tints  and   hues.     Huge  mountain  peaks 
rise  in  solemn  majesty  in  the  distance,  their  tops  white 
with  eternal  snow.     All  around  this  isolated  peak  is  a 
valley  as  lovely  as  ever  the  sun  shone  upon.     Villages 
in  great  number  are  scattered  over  it.     Fields  of  grain 
and  hay  and  fruit  trees  and  vines,  and  winding  roads  and 
small  lakes,  and  an  undulating  surface — all  lying  3,000 
feet  below  the  spectator — present  a  scene  for  the  artist's 
pencil  or  the  poet's  pen.     As  I  stood  upon  the  highest 
rock  of  the  summit  and  beheld  this  scene  of  beauty,   I, 
for  the  first  time,  realized  the  significance  of  the  expres- 
sion, "  As  lovely  as  a  Swiss  valley.  "      I  felt  that  I  was 
amply  repaid  for  climbing  to  the  top  of  the  mountain. 

The  road  leads  out  of  the  town  to  the  south,  crosses 
the  railway,    climbs  gently  upward  a   couple  of  miles, 
passes  some  rude  houses  where  the  trail  leads  off,  passing 
between  two  of  the  houses,  and  leads  to  the  north  of  east 
and  begins  a  steep  ascent  over  and  around  the  base  of 
the  northern  spur,  which  from  the  valley  looks  to  be  the 
highest  point,  but  which  we  now  find  to  be  but  about  two- 
thirds  of  the  way  to  the  summit;  at  every  turn  in  the  trail 
lovely  views  are  disclosed  that  are  beyond  description. 
Now  the  trail  leads  over  a  comparatively  level  stretch  of 
ground  to  the  southwest  corner  of   the  peak,   along  a 
precipice  a  thousand  feet  or  more  in  sheer  descent  and  a 
wall  of  stone  on  the  other  side,  and  again  begins  a  zig- 
zag course  for  twenty  minutes  or  more,  and  terminates 
within  a  hundred  feet  of  the  actual  summit.     Soon  after 
reaching  this  point,  a  cloud  swept  across  the  summit  and 
a  heavy  rain  fell,  while  the  lightning  leaped  and  played 


—  192  — 

around  the  crags  and  rocks  and  the  "tramps"  took 
refuge  in  the  little  hostelry,  where  a  sickly  fire  burned 
upon  the  grate  and  some  black  coffee  was  served  for 
refreshment.  The  cloud  soon  rolled  on  and  the  sun 
came  out  brightly  and  again  the  valley  and  lake  were 
revealed  to  view.  For  two  hours  we  enjoyed  the  won- 
drous beauty  and  rested  upon  the  summit,  and  then 
took  leave  of  the  Frenchman  whose  hospitality  we  had 
enjoyed  at  so  many  francs  per  head,  and  began  the 
descent  on  the  south  side.  For  a  thousand  feet,  the 
descent  was  actual  climbing  from  rock  to  rock,  then  we 
followed  a  trail  which  makes  a  rapid  descent  until  it 
strikes  a  ridge  which  it  follows  some  distance  and  leads 
through  a  little  glen  surrounded  by  chestnut  trees  and 
carpeted  with  the  greenest  of  green  grass,  and  pervaded 
by  the  noontime  stillness  of  a  Sabbath  day.  Our  shouts 
as  they  broke  the  solemn  quiet  of  the  place,  echoed  and 
reverberated  among  the  rocks  around.  We  lay  down 
upon  the  grass  in  the  shade  of  the  spreading  chestnut 
trees,  and  built  castles  in  the  clouds,  and  viewed  the 
lake  and  distant  mountain  peaks.  No  noise  from  town  or 
country  life  reached  the  spot.  Not  even  a  murmur  from 
the  beautiful  lake  below  ascended  to  break  the  quietness 
of  this  retreat. 

"A  pleasing  land  of  drowsy  head  it  was, 
Of  dreams  that  wave  before  the  half-shut  eye; 
And  of  gay  castles  in  the  clouds  that  pass 
Forever  flushing  round  a  summer  sky." 

Having  enjoyed  a  short  rest  in  this  delightful  place, 
we  went  on  down  the  trail  which,  for  two  hours,  zig-zags 
down  the  almost  perpendicular  side  of  the  mountain  until 
it  reaches  the  lake.      Here  we  met  the  steamboat,  and 


—  193  — 

were  glad  to  rest  upon  deck  while  it  carried  us  to  the 
railway  that  leads  to  Lake  Maggiore,  whence  we  return 
to  Lugano,  getting  back  at  nightfall,  with  an  appetite  that 
knew  no  bounds. 

It  is  impossible  to  describe  the  real  enjoyment  one 
gets  from  such  a  scramble.  It  is  hard  work,  certainly, 
but  it  is  the  pleasantest  kind  of  hard  work  that  one 
can  do. 

The  route  from  Lugano  to  Lucerne  lies  through  the 
Alps,  clinging  to  almost  impassable  places  on  their  sides, 
diving  i^to  them  hundreds  of  feet  beneath  their  tops, 
rushing  out  on  the  opposite  sides,  descending  into  beauti- 
ful valleys,  and  again  climbing  toward  the  snow  line. 
Here  and  there  are  waterfalls  of  wondrous  beauty.  The 
water  leaps  over  the  crest  of  the  mountain,  and  here  it 
plunges  from  stone  to  stone,  Irom  terrace  to  terrace, 
dashing  and  splashing  its  way  to  the  valley  below;  and 
there  it  rushes  over  the  rocks,  and  makes  a  sheer  plunge 
for  thousands  of  feet,  diffusing  itself  into  spray  long  before 
it  reaches  the  level  of  the  valley.  Now  we  are  in  the 
midst  of  pastoral  scenes  in  the  valley  with  the  mountains 
around  us,  now  high  up  the  side  of  some  precipitous 
cliff  looking  down  upon  the  beauties  below  us.  So  we 
roll  on,  passing  ancient  castles,  and  walls  of  old  towns; 
dive  through  more  tunnels,  fly  through  lovely  valleys, 
and  begin  to  climb  toward  the  Great  St.  Gotthard  whose 
lofty  crest  is  covered  with  perpetual  snow.  Now  we  run 
through  a  valley,  and  see,  on  the  opposite  side,  high  up 
the  side  of  the   mountain,   the  railway   in   two  distinct 

13 


—  194  — 

places,  one  high  above  the  other.  At  about  our  own 
level  we  see  the  black  mouth  of  a  tunnel,  and  dive  into 
it.  Again  we  come  out  upon  the  same  side  of  the  moun- 
tain on  one  oi  the  higher  tracks  which  we  have  seen  from 
the  other  side  of  the  valley.  We  have  made  a  complete 
circle  in  the  mountain  and  have  climbed  up  a  hundred 
feet  or  more  in  elevation.  Below  us  we  see  the  track  and 
bridge  over  which  we  came  to  the  mouth  of  the  tunnel, 
and  between  us  and  the  cliffs  on  the  opposite  side,  the 
same  valley,  or  rather  canon,  with  its  rushing,  foaming 
torrent.  Almost  before  we  see  these  things,  we  again  dive 
into  the  mountain  only  again  to  come  out  on  the  same 
side.  We  have  described  another  circle  in  the  heart  of 
the  mountain  and  again  have  climbed  up  a  hundred  feet 
or  more.  Now  we  see  below  us  both  tracks  and  the 
same  valley.  We  have  traveled  for  half  an  hour  and  are 
at  the  same  point  except  that  we  are  a  few  hundred  feet 
above  the  starting  point.  The  railroad  has  proved  to 
be  a  veritable  "winding  stairway."  These  spiral  tun- 
nels are  found  on  both  sides  of  the  Great  St.  Gotthard 
and  by  means  of  them  the  railway  ascends  to  the  level 
of  the  famous  St.  Gotthard  tunnel,  which  with  these  spiral 
tunnels,  forms  one  of  the  greatest  achievements  of  modern 
engineering  skill.  We  now  pass  rapidly  on  and  at  about 
one  o'clock  we  enter  the  St.  Gotthard  tunnel.  The  pas- 
sage through  it  requires  nearly  thirty  minutes,  and  the 
traveler  is  glad  to  see  daylight  on  the  other  side.  Soon 
we  again  dive  into  spiral  tunnels  and  rapidly  descend. 

We  reach  the  famous   "William  Tell  region"  and 
pass  through  the  interesting  little  town  of  Altdorf,  the 


—  195  — 

traditionary  scene  of  Tell's  exploit  of  shooting  the  apple 
from  his  son's  head.  The  scenes  and  incidents  of  Schil- 
ler's "William  Tell  "come  swiftly  back  to  memory  as 
we  whirl  through  this  land  of  beauty  and  romantic  tradi- 
tions of  Swiss  bravery  against  Austrian  tyranny. 

The  Swiss  are  a  happy,   independent,  liberty-loving 
people,  living  in  beautiful  and  fertile,   though  small  val- 
leys and  on  picturesque  mountain  sides.     They  are  hon- 
est, intelligent  and  exceedingly  industrious.     They  make 
a  living  and  even  gain  a  competency  where  other  nation- 
alities would  starve.     They  cultivate  the  rough  mountain 
sides  up  to  the  very  snow  line,    and  gather  crops  and 
sow  and  plant  and  mow  where  other  people  would  climb 
with  caution  and  trepidation.     Not  unfrequently,  has  the 
writer  seen,   after  climbing  some  high  mountain,   a  field 
of  ripening  grain  and  a  glistening  glacier  or  huge  snow 
bank  in  close  proximity,  presenting  a  scene  so  novel  and 
unusual  as  to  make  a  lasting  impression  upon  the  mem- 
ory.    Here  are  found  more  difficulties,  more  obstacles  of 
every   kind  to  farming  and  to  trade;   less  convenience, 
fewer  railroads,  fewer  means  of  transportation  than  else- 
where in  Europe,  and  yet  by  far  more  stir  and  activity 
and   energy    than  elsewhere    on  the  continent.      There 
is  something  remarkable  about  all  this.      These  hardy 
mountaineers  seem  to  be  fully  conscious  of  their  man- 
hood and  nobility  of  character  and  their  honors  sit  easily 
upon  them.     They  have  demonstrated  to  the  world  that 
they  are  capable  of  self-government  and  they  are  justly 
proud   of  it.      They   mean  to   maintain    their    national 


—  196  — 

character  in  every  respect  and  they  will  succeed.  The 
people  of  Switzerland  are  tolerant  and  sensible.  They 
are  not  generally  moved  by  prejudice  or  passion.  They 
possess  a  cool,  clear,  calm  judgment  singularly  at  vari- 
ance to  other  German  nations.  They  are  a  prosperous, 
happy  and  above  all  a  contented  people.  It  is  true  that 
in  many  valleys  and  on  many  a  mountain  side  the  whole 
family  must  work  in  the  field,  the  husband,  the  wife,  the 
brother,  the  sister,  side  by  side.  But  the  women  are 
treated  with  far  more  consideration  and  respect  than 
elsewhere  on  the  continent,  and  they  go  into  the  field 
from  a  sheer  sense  of  duty  and  necessity.  And  they 
are  happy  to  do  so.  No  happier  fireside  can  be  found 
than  in  little  Switzerland.  I  have  seen  whole  families  in 
the  field.  A  fertile  valley,  small  in  extent,  stretches 
away  before  me.  Huge  mountains  rise  in  majesty  all 
around,  their  tops  grey  with  snow.  Lower  are  forests  of 
pine  and  fir,  still  lower  on  their  steep  and  rocky  sides  are 
patches  of  cultivated  land;  while  over  all,  like  a  beautiful 
blue  arch,  stretches  the  lovely  Swiss  sky,  and  the  entire 
picture  is  bathed  in  the  golden  light  of  a  meridian  sun. 

A  maiden  fair  and  comely,  binds  the  golden  grain 
into  sheaves,  the  father  and  brother  cut  the  grain  with  a 
sickle,  and  the  mother  and  other  children  work  with  the 
rest.  The  winds  play  with  the  girl's  golden  hair.  The 
sun  has  kissed  her  cheek  and  left  it  a  dusky  brown. 
The  air  is  cool  and  invigorating;  she  sings  and  laughs  by 
turn  and  all  seem  to  rejoice  with  nature  in  the  beauties 
that  surround  them.     They  are  perfectly  contented.  Can 


—   197  — 

one  behold  such  a  picture  and  not  know  why  Switzer- 
land is  free?  The  home  is  to  them  the  dearest  spot  on 
earth.  To  preserve  it  in  its  freedom  and  purity,  they 
will  freely  give  their  lives  on  every  mountain  side  of  their 
lovely  country.  Where  the  home  is  sacred,  the  people 
will  be  pure,  the  statesmen  will  be  honest  and  the  coun- 
try will  be  prosperous.  The  home  is  the  basis  of  the 
national  life. 

In  Switzerland  I  have  seen  women  carrying  huge 
loads  of  hay  up  steep  hillsides,  but  the  men  were  also 
engaged  in  hard  labor  at  the  same  time  and  not  shirking 
their  duty  as  in  many  other  countries,  where  women  are 
made  beasts  of  burden.  The  difference  is  that  in  Switzer- 
land the  work  is  an  absolute  necessity,  owing  to  the  pecul- 
iar condition  of  nature,  while  elsewhere  there  seems  to 
be  little  excuse  for  compelling  the  women  to  labor  as 
they  do. 

In  many  places  teams  cannot  be  used  either  to  haul 
or  plough.  The  farmer  on  his  scanty  land  only  hopes  to 
gather  hay  enough  to  keep  his  cow,  and  to  raise  grain 
enough  for  his  family  and  to  provide  clothing  and  other 
necessaries.  To  keep  a  team  would,  in  many  case.1,  add 
to  the  burden  of  life.  Hence  it  is  necessary  to  carry  the 
hay  in  from  the  hillsides,  and  the  women  cheerfully  help 
in  this  work,  and  do  such  other  work  in  the  fields  as  they 
can  to  provide  for  the  frugal  necessaries  of  their  simple 
life.  And  in  this  they  are  happy  and  contented.  The 
work  is  hard,  very  hard,  but  they  toil  up  hillsides  with 
loads  of  hay  upon  their  heads  that  one  would  think  it 


—  198  — 

were  impossible  for  them  to  carry.  When  I  remember 
how  hard  I  thought  it  to  climb  up  these  same  hills  with 
the  aid  of  a  good  alpenstock  and  no  luggage  to  impede 
me,  I  realize  the  fearful  toil  of  these  people.  But  after 
the  summer  work  is  done,  comes  the  long  winter  with 
its  rest  and  dangers  also  from  avalanches  of  snow.  I 
can  easily  picture  to  myself  how  they  gather  around  the 
blazing  fire  of  pine  logs  on  the  hearth  during  the  long 
evenings  of  their  weary  winter  to  read  or  talk,  happy  in 
their  simple  way  as  they  smoke  their  pipes,  peel  their 
apples,  drink  their  sparkling  cider;  and  sing  and  warble 
the  "jodel"  and  listen  to  the  oft-recited  legends  of  the 
mountains,  and  instill  patriotism  and  bravery  into  the 
hearts  of  the  youth  by  tales  of  Swiss  bravery  and 
daring.  But  I  have  forgotten  that  I  am  on  a  railroad 
train.  We  rush  away  from  Altdorf  and  soon  arrive  at 
Fluelen.  Here  we  take  boat  on  the  lake  of  the  "Four 
Forest  Cantons,"  or  as  it  is  more  generally  known  to 
Americans,  the  "Lake  of  Lucerne."  By  many  it  is 
thought  to  excel  Lake  Como  in  beauty.  I  do  not  think 
so.  It  is  grander,  perhaps,  than  Como,  but  it  lacks  that 
soft  and  pleasing  loveliness  of  the  latter  lake,  while  it 
possesses  much  more  of  the  magnificent.  Como  is  lovely. 
The  Four  Forest  Cantons  is  grand.  The  mountain  shores 
of  lake  Como  are  pretty,   those  of  Lucerne  are  sublime. 

The  lake  of  the  Four  Forest  Cantons  is  much  larger 
than  Lake  Como  and  its  mountain  sides  are  higher.  The 
mountain  sides  around  Lake  Como  are  beautilul  in  their 
green  verdure,    pleasant   villas  and   picturesque  effects; 


—   199  — 

while  those  around  the  Four  Forest  Cantons  are  grand 
in  their  grey  and  rugged  masses  of  stone,  their  towering 
peaks  and  masses  of  snow.  Passing  over  the  lake,  we 
drink  in  the  grandeur  of  the  scenes  and  arrive  at  Vitznau 
from  which  place  we  ascend  the  '"Rigi"  on  the  inclined 
railway. 

The  gradient  of  the  road  is  quite  steep.  The  cars 
are  propelled  by  a  locomotive  which  runs  behind  the  car 
and  climbs  up  the  steep  grades  by  means  of  a  cog-wheel 
which  runs  in  a  set  of  cogs  laid  in  the  middle  of  the  track. 
Arriving  at  the  top  or  "kulm"  a  grand  view  is  had. 
The  Rigi,  though  not  so  high  as  many  peaks  of  the  snow 
ranges  of  the  Alps,  is  isolated,  and  commands  a  fine  view 
of  many  higher  peaks  of  the  snow  covered  Alps.  From 
the  kulm  the  spectator  looks  over  a  panorama  ol  beautiful 
towns  and  lakes  and  pleasant  valleys  and  mountain  peaks 
and  glaciers,  which  covers  an  area  of  more  than  three 
hundred  miles  in  circumference.  Lake  Lucerne  with  its 
peculiar  looking  surface  and  adjacent  villages,  lies  below. 
Away  to  the  south  the  great  banks  of  snow  a  hundred 
miles  long  gleam  from  the  mountain  tops,  making  one 
shudder  as  he  looks  at  their  white  masses.  It  seems  that 
one  could  jump  off  this  summit  directly  into  the  sea  ot 
Zug  so  nearly  perpendicular  is  the  mountain  on  that  side. 
Almost  below  us  is  the  little  town  of  Zug  which  partly 
slipped  into  the  lake  last  summer,  while  we  were  in  that 
vicinity,  and  by  which  accident  many  lives  of  the  inhabi- 
tants were  lost.  It  is  not  in  the  least  strange  to  one  who 
has  traveled  in  Switzerland,  that  such  things  happen  and 


200    

that  every  year  we  read  of  whole  towns  destroyed  by  ava- 
lanches. I  have  seen  towns  clinging  to  steep  hillsides  at 
an  elevation  of  nine  thousand  or  ten  thousand  feet,  where 
I  should  not  care  to  climb  without  a  guide.  That  great 
masses  of  snow  slide  down  these  hillsides  sometimes, 
and  sweep  such  a  village  into  the  valley  below  is  expected. 
The  town  of  Zug,  however,  which  slipped  off  into  the 
"  Zuger  See"  is  located  on  the  edge  of  the  lake  and  the 
ground  gave  way,  or  slipped  down  into  the  water  carry- 
ing many  houses  along.  Upon  the  Rigi-Kulm  the  air  is 
cool,  but  it  is  quite  pleasant  in  the  sun.  To  get  the  ludi- 
crous side  of  a  visit  to  the  Rigi,  one  should  read  Mark 
Twain's  description  of  it.  The  sun-rise  and  sun-set  as 
seen  from  the  kulm  are  said  to  be  exquisite.  We 
expected  to  see  the  glorious  sunset,  so  eloquently 
described  by  travelers,  but  a  huge  black  cloud  sailed 
across  the  western  sky  and  spoiled  it.  It  was  most 
vexatious.  Just  after  sunset  the  clouds  gave  way  and  the 
sky  was  as  clear  and  cloudless  as  a  summer  night  well 
could  be.  But  viewing  the  surroundings,  I  can  imagine 
how  beautiful  it  must  be  upon  a  clear  day.  Upon  an 
Alpine  horn,  a  mountaineer  plays  the  "Retreat  of  the 
Orb  of  Day"  as  the  sun  drops  behind  the  hills.  Also  in 
the  morning  the  first  faint  tinge  in  the  east  is  heralded 
by  the  notes  from  an  Alpine  horn. 

Upon  this  elevated  place  are  found  many  vendors  of 
all  kinds  of  wares,  carved  wood,  alpenstocks,  canes, 
views,  novelties  of  all  sorts — all  have  a  stand  and  a  ven- 
dor here.     The  hotels  are   thronged   with   visitors  and 


—    201    — 

hundreds  can  not  find  lodgings  at  the  top  and  stay  at  the 
towns  below,  from  which  they  can  easily  visit  the  kulm 
during  the  day.  There  is  a  bridle-path  leading  from 
Weggis  to  the  top,  but  it  is  now  seldom  used  for  the 
ascent,  though  very  many  ride  up  on  the  inclined  railway 
and  walk  down  this  path.  I  walked  down  this  way.  The 
distance  is  nine  English  miles,  but  the  beauty  of  the 
scenery  at  almost  every  step  well  repays  one  for  the 
fatigue  of  the  walk. 

We  descend  for  some  time  along  the  track  of  the 
railway,  then  the  path  makes  a  detour  to  the  left  and  by 
an  easy  descent  again  reaches  the  railway  track,  crosses 
it  and  leads  a  little  to  the  right,  passes  several  summer 
hotels  and  leads  through  little  valleys  between  high  rocks, 
runs  quite  through  small  patches  of  trees,   and  suddenly 
comes  out  upon  an  open  space  from  which  is  seen  the 
twinkling  lights  of  distant  Lucerne  and  the  villages  along 
the  lake.     At  one  place  as   I  walked  through  a  little  dell 
with   huge  rocks  around  me  and  a  mellow    moonlight 
falling  over  all,  I  almost  believed  that  I  was  in  the  "Gar- 
den of  the  gods,"   so  strong  a  resemblance  did  it  bear  to 
that  remarkable  spot  in  Colorado.     Here  and  there,  along 
the  path,  are  places  where  refreshments  are  served  and 
an  occasional  hotel.     At  the  end  of  the  bridal  path  and 
directly  before  it  as  it  reaches  the  highway  stands  the 
' '  Hotel  Du  Lac ' '   and  the  town  of  Weggis.     Here  the 
"tramps"  spent  Sunday  in  writing,  reading  and  boating. 
Here  we  received  mail  from  America  and  glad  we  were 
to    hear   from  home.     In    the  afternoon   some   went  to 
Lucerne,  some  clambered  up  the  mountains,  others  wrote 
letters,  others  slept.     Thus  was  Sunday  spent. 


©r}<apter   22. 


Lucerne,  Berne,  Geneva,  Chamounix,  The  Mer 

de  Glace. 

Lucerne  is  one  of  the  prettiest  towns  in  Switzerland. 
It  lies  at  the  west  end  of  the  lake,  on  comparatively  level 
ground  and  is  divided  into  two  parts  by  the  river,  which 
is  crossed  in  several  places  by  interesting  bridges.  One 
of  these  bridges  which  crosses  the  river  diagonaUy,  is 
quite  long  and  covered.  The  interior  is  decorated  by 
paintings  of  some  of  the  masters.  It  is  common  on  the 
continent  to  see  old  bridges  thus  decorated.  Here  is  the 
famous  "Lion  of  Thorwaldsen"  a  real  work  of  art,  cut  in 
relief  upon  the  side  of  a  huge  rock  near  the  "glacier 
garden."  It  is  needless  to  say  that  it  is  the  pride  of 
Lucerne. 

At  this  visit  I  staid  only  a  part  of  the  day  in  Lucerne 
and  after  dinner,  through  a  rain  which  laid  the  dust  in  all 
Switzerland,  I  walked  to  the  railway  depot  and  departed 
for  Berne.  I  wonder  if  it  always  rains  at  Lucerne?  Two 
weeks  after  this  I  was  again  there  and  the  rain  fell  in 
torrents.  I  never  met  one  who  had  been  at  Lucerne, 
that  he  did  not  speak  of  the  rain  when  he  was  there. 

From  Lucerne  to  Berne,  the  railway  lies  through  a 
country  less  mountainous  than  I  noticed  elsewhere  in 
Switzerland.     The  valley  is  broad  and  very  fertile  and 


—    203  — 

the  condition  of  the  people  seems  to  be  quite  good.  I 
noticed  many  fine  fields  of  grain  and  numerous  fruit 
trees  and  vines  but  not  so  many  as  further  south.  The 
houses,  upon  the  outside,  look  neat  and  in  many  cases 
their  appearance  is  unique.  They  are  generally  built  of 
hewed  pine  logs  with  shingle  roofs  which  project  far  over 
the  walls  and  have  many  balconies  or  verandas.  Some- 
times they  are  covered  with  plaster  and  penciled  to  re- 
semble stone.  The  pine  oi  which  the  houses  are  built 
keeps  a  fresh  appearance  lor  years  after  the  construction 
of  the  building.  In  some  parts  of  Switzerland,  especially 
in  the  Bernese  Oberland,  I  saw  houses  varying  from  eighty 
to  one  hundred  years  old  and  their  well  preserved  condi- 
tion was  remarkable.  In  some  cantons,  the  date  of  con- 
struction with  a  motto  or  verse  of  some  kind  and  the 
carpenter's  name  is  cut  into  the  wood  on  the  outside  of 
the  house  next  to  the  highway.  And  it  is  generally  done 
with  considerable  artistic  skill.  In  the  valley  from  Berne 
to  Lucerne,  I  saw  several  brick  houses,  quite  modern  in 
style,  but  this  is  the  exception  in  the  country.  However 
in  the  cities  the  buildings  are  quite  often  stone  or  brick 
and  in  some  places  quite  modern  in  style.  It  is  only  in 
the  mountain  valleys  that  the  primitive  Swiss  houses  are 
found. 

We  arrived  at  Berne  in  the  evening  and  remained 
there  over  night.  This  town  is  the  capital  of  the  republic 
and  including  the  suburbs,  contains  44,000  people.  It 
has  been  the  capital  since  1848  and  is  said  to  have  been 
founded  in  1191.  Nearly  all  of  its  streets  have  arcades; 
fountains  adorn  the  different  squares,  many  of  which 
date  from  the  sixteenth  century.  It  also  contains  a  bear 
den,  of  which  little  can  be  said,  except  that  it  contains 


—  204  — 

two  insignificant  brown  bears.  The  public  buildings  are 
fine  and  the  country  around  the  town  is  very  pretty. 
From  Berne  to  Lausanne  there  is  considerable  tillable 
land,  but  most  of  the  mountain  sides  are  covered  with 
vines.  On  the  road  between  these  two  places  are  many 
tunnels.  On  this  road,  I  saw  iron  cross  ties  in  use;  the 
rail  is  bolted  to  the  tie  and  the  road  ballasted  with  stone. 
This  part  of  Switzerland  is  highly  picturesque.  We 
whirl  along  past  vine-clad  hillsides,  in  and  out  of  tunnels, 
around  sharp  curves,  and  over  high  bridges.  We  dive 
into  a  tunnel,  rumble  a  few  seconds  through  the  darkness 
and  rush  out  into  the  sunlight  and  lake  Geneva  lies 
stretched  before  us  as  if  suddenly  dropped  there  from  the 
heavens  above.  We  whirl  onward,  hanging  to  the  hill- 
sides and  looking  out  upon  the  beautiful  surface  of  the 
lake  and  arrive  at  Lausanne. 

From  this  place  we  retrace  our  way  toward  the  east 
and  south  along  the  edge  of  the  lake  until  we  arrive  at 
Chillon.  Here  is  the  famous  prison  where  the  unfortu- 
nate Bonivard  was  confined.  Lord  Byron,  who  at  the 
time  was  wholly  unacquainted  with  the  history  of  the 
castle,  by  mere  accident,  as  he  afterwards  states,  used  the 
name  of  Bonivard  to  designate  his  hero  in  the  "Prisoner 
of  Chillon,"  thus  unintentionally  making  the  place  fa- 
mous. Many  suppose  that  Byron  founded  his  poem  upon 
the  incidents  of  Bonivard' s  imprisonment,  but  the  poet 
takes  pains  to  state  that  when  he  wrote  his  poem  he 
knew  nothing  of  them.  It  is  only  a  remarkable  coin- 
cidence. 

From  Chillon  a  steamer  bears  us  over  the  beautiful 
waters  of  the  lake  to  the  city  of  Geneva .  The  water  of 
this  lake  has  a  very  peculiar  color,  which  is,  by  some, 


—  205  — 

thought  to  be  due  to  the  presence  of  iodine,  brought  in 
by  the  upper  Rhone.  The  lake  is  but  a  broad  expan- 
sion of  the  river  Rhone,  and  is  about  forty-five  miles 
long,  and  is  six  to  eight  miles  wide.  Its  shape  is  very 
much  like  a  crescent  with  the  points  or  horns  toward  the 
south.  On  the  south  side,  the  shore  is  for  the  most  part 
mountainous  and  abrupt,  while  on  the  opposite  side  it 
ascends  more  gradually  from  the  water,  and  is  covered 
with  vineyards  and  beautiful  towns.  At  the  southern 
and  western  extremity  of  the  lake,  and  where  it  narrows 
again  into  a  river,  is  the  beautiful  city  of  Geneva.  Her 
romantic  history,  beautiful  situation  and  lovely  lake, 
make  her  an  object  of  interest  to  every  tourist.  The 
town  was  well  known  in  the  days  of  Julius  Caesar,  who 
mentions  it  in  his  Commentaries.  From  Geneva  to  Cham- 
ounix,  is  a  delightful  drive  by  carriage  or  diligence.  The 
road  winds  among  the  mountains,  crosses  torrents, 
traverses  beautiful  valleys,  passes  pretty  cascades,  follows 
a  mountain  stream  for  some  distance,  and  suddenly  dis- 
closes a  magnificent  view  of  Mt.  Blanc,  the  monarch  of 
the  Alps,  in  all  his  majesty  and  grandeur.  A  short 
distance  from  Geneva  the  road  crosses  the  French 
frontier,  and  thence  lies  all  the  way  in  French  territory. 
Along  this  road  after  entering  France  there  is  consider- 
able tillable  land,  though  in  small  holdings.  The 
peasants  have  small  and  insignificant  houses,  keep  no 
horses  or  oxen,  and  cultivate  the  land  with  a  hoe-shaped 
instrument  instead  of  a  plough.  The  drive  from  Geneva 
to  Chamounix  requires  a  day.  Toward  evening  we 
enter  a  valley  much  wider  and  larger  than  usual,  skirt 
the  western  and  southern  sides  of  it,  change  horses  at  a 
little  town,  and  go  on  over  a  level  road  for  a  mile  or 


—    206    — 

more,  cross  a  foaming,  seething  stream,  turn  abruptly  to 
the  left  and  again  begin  a  laborious  ascent  for  some 
miles,  and  then  turning  again  to  the  right  cross  the 
highest  point  we  have  attained  during  the  day.  Here 
the  aroma  of  the  pines  and  firs,  borne  upon  the  cool  winds 
fresh  from  huge  banks  of  snow,  gives  us  a  delightful 
sensation.  Crossing  a  bridge  and  turning  to  the  left 
around  a  huge  spur  of  the  mountains,  the  village  of 
Chamounix  is  suddenly  and  unexpectedly  seen  in  the 
valley,  and  to  the  right,  Mt.  Blanc*  looking  cold  and 
majestic  and  serene,  and  a  huge  glacier  that  comes  down 
into  the  valley  with  its  huge  masses  of  ice  and  snow. 
This  is  the  "  Glacier  des  Bossons,"  the  huge  ice  masses 
of  which  project  far  out  into  the  valley,  and  rise  many 
feet  in  height.  Our  carriages  roll  on  down  to  the  town 
and  we  alight  after  a  long  but  delightful  ride,  and  after 
supper  retire  to  take  the  needed  rest  for  a  walk  up  the 
Montanvert,  and  across  the  " Mer  de  Glace"  on  the 
following  day. 

The  sun  was  shining  brightly,  the  little  village  of 
Chamuonix  lay  in  a  sleepy  quietness,  the  mountains  rising 
high  on  either  side,  the  great  glaciers  lay  cold  and  bright 
in  the  morning  sun,  the  little  stream  fed  by  the  melting 
glaciers  rushed  and  tumbled  along  its  bed,  tourists  with 
long  alpenstocks  in  their  hands  and  dressed  in  knee 
pants  and  heavy  shoes,  stood  around  in  little  groups 
talking  and  laughing,  as  the  "tramps"  started  out  to 
climb  the  Montanvert.  The  way  leads  to  the  east  along  a 
lane  until  it  reaches  the  base  of  the  Mount  Blanc  chain, 
then  begins  to  climb  up  the  steep  sides,  by  zig-zag 
courses,  here  and  there  giving  lovely  views  of  the  little 
valley  with  the  foaming  stream  lying  like  a  silver  thread 


The  Mer  de  Glace. 


—  207  — 

through  its  center.     Away  below  us  lies  Chamounix,  and 
the  white,  hard  road  over  which  we  entered  the  town, 
and  over  which  "Marie"  so  joyfully  left  for  Paris  and  so 
sadly  returned  in  her  insanity  and  weakness,  induced  to 
travel  only  by  the  music  of  the  faithful  Savoyard,  which 
nearly  every  one  has  seen  so  powerfully  interpreted  by 
Maggie  Mitchell.     This  little  French  village  is  where  the 
scenes  of  the  ' '  Pearl  of  Savoy ' '  are  laid.     Three  hours 
climbing,  or  rather  walking,  for  the  way  is  quite  good, 
brings  us  to  the  hotel  at  the  summit  where  we  get  our 
first  view  of  the  "  Mer  de  Glace."    This  huge  glacier,  like 
a  mighty  river  of  ice,  a  mile  or  more  wide,  stretches  back 
into  the  Alps,  for  miles.    Its  surface  is  rolling  and  broken 
into  ridges  and  valleys  of  ice  and  crevices,  as  if  the  water 
of  a  large  river  in  angry  tumult  were  suddenly  frozen  and 
the  crests  and  depressions  and  foam  of  the  waves  were 
turned  into  solid  ice.     To  the  east  it  loses  itself  in  the 
great  snow  peaks,  and  to  the  west  it  leads  off  to  the  edge 
ot   the   precipice   and   drops   down   many   feet   like    an 
enlarged  Niagara  Falls  instantly  frozen  and  thus  held  in 
place.    Standing  at  the  foot  of  this  great  ' '  ice  falls, ' '  the 
spectator   occasionally   sees   great   masses  of  ice   break 
away  and  fall,  bounding  and  breaking  until  they  reach 
the  bottom  with  a  noise  that  echoes  and  reverberates 
among   the   mountains   like   the  roll  of  thunder.     We 
walked  across  the  glacier,  climbing  over  the  ice   hills, 
carefully  avoiding  the  great  crevices,  in  any  one  of  which 
the   whole   party  could   have  been  swallowed  up,   and 
arrived  safely  at  the  oposite  shore.    The  great  bed  of  ice 
many  miles  long,  a  mile  wide,  and  hundreds  of  feet  thick, 
moves  along  down  its  course,  like  the  water  of  a  river, 
only  at  a  less  velocity.    The  glacier  moves  thirty  to  sixty 


—    208    — 

feet  a  year.     The  Mer  de  Glace  moves  about  an  inch  a 
day.    Huge  stones  are  carried  down  from  the  mountains  to 
the  valley  below  in  this  way.  Huge  masses  of  stone  are  piled 
along  the  lower  sides,  called  the  moraine  and  show  what  the 
slow  but  ceaseless  work  of  the  great  ice  stream  has  done, 
and  convey  some  idea  of  the  length  of  time  the  process 
has  been  going  on.     We  walked  along  the  side  of  the 
glacier   passed    a    magnificent   cascade    that    fell    from 
the  mountains  on  the  north  side,  and  plunged  down  a 
sheer  descent  of  thousands  of  feet,   climbed  down  over 
the  "Mauvais  Pas"  passed  the  ''  Chapeau"  a  huge  rock 
resembling  a  chapeau,   and  here  divided;  a  part  of  our 
party  going  on  down  the  bridle-path  to  the  wagon  road 
in  the  valley  and  thence  back  to  the  town,  while  three  of 
us  including  the  writer,    climbed  down  over  the  loose 
stones  a  distance  of  several  hundred  feet  to  the  foot  of 
the  huge  mass  of  ice  at  the  end  of  the  glacier.     It  was  an 
interesting  scramble  and  the  peculiar  appearance  of  the 
ice  and  rock  down  there,  with  huge  fissures  and  caverns, 
and    the    stream    of    water    issuing  forth  as    from    the 
rocks,    and   the  occasional  fall   of  huge  ice  masses   and 
great  rocks,    well  repaid  us  for  the  laborious  climbing 
which  we  had  on  our  way  back  to  the  moraine.     We 
followed     the   moraine  to  the  end,   crossed  some  fields, 
took  shelter  in  some  tall  brush  during  a  sudden  shower, 
and  crossed  the  foaming  stream,    reaching  the  road  a 
short  distance  from  our  hotel.     From  the  Montanvert  a 
magnificent  view  is  had  up  the  "  Mer  de   Glace"    with 
some   sharp-peaked  pinnacles  and  snow-clad  mountains. 
From  the  valley  of  course  Mt.  Blanc  is  the  chief  object  of 
interest.     It  is  the  highest  peak  in  Europe,   and  can  be 
climbed  with  little  danger,  except  from  the  sudden  snow 


—  209  — 

storms  that  are  apt  to  occur,  and  which  at  various  times 
have  lasted  for  several  days  and  in  which  whole  parties 
have  perished.  Many  thrilling  events  and  remarkable 
escapes  from  destruction  have  occurred  on  this  mountain. 


14 


©r}&pter   23. 


The  Tete  Noire  Pass,  Pedestrianism,   Arrival  at 
Zermatt,  Guides,  Mountain  Dangers. 

On  a  bright  morning  our  party  set  out  from  Cham- 
ounix  to  cross  the  "Tete  Noire"  pass.  The  majority  of 
us  decided  to  walk,  while  the  remainder  with  the  luggage 
were  to  be  taken  across  by  wagon.  The  road  leads  to 
the  north  along  the  little  valley  in  which  lies  the  town  of 
Chamounix.  Soon  it  begins  to  ascend  and  numerous  little 
cascades  and  foaming  rapids  beautify  the  stream  by  the 
roadside,  while  the  valley  narrows  and  the  mountains 
rise  higher  and  closer  and  become  wilder  and  more  rocky 
and  rugged.  Finally  the  valley  ends  abruptly  against  a 
huge  mountain  side,  which  is  surmounted  by  means  of 
the  usual  zig-zag  road.  Here  the  writer  and  Mr.  Davis 
left  the  road  and  experimented  in  mountain  climbing. 
We  crossed  the  road  several  times  and  reached  the  top, 
having  saved  at  least  two  miles  by  the  climb.  Whether 
we  gained  anything  by  the  operation  is  still  an  open  ques- 
tion in  the  minds  of  each  of  us.  We  found  on  this  plateau, 
again,  the  hard  smooth  road  which  we  followed  into  a 
sort  of  natural  amphitheatre  of  an  oval  shape,  with  enor- 
mous rocky  sides,  and  the  usual  foaming  mountain  tor- 
rent rushing  through  it.     Emerging  from  this,   we  were 


211     — 

again  in  the  valley  which  lies  many  feet  higher  than  the 
"vale  of  Chamounix,"  and  from  which  the  great  snow 
caps  of  the  distant  peaks  are  plainly  visible. 

About  noon  we  crossed  the  Swiss  frontier,  took 
dinner  at  an  execrable  inn  and  trudged  on  soon  coming 
upon  some  of  the  loveliest  mountain  scenery  we  had  yet 
seen  in  Europe.  The  sun  was  bright  and  warm,  the  air 
pure  and  light  by  reason  of  the  elevation  we  had  attained, 
and  the  atmosphere  was  charged  with  odors  of  fir  and 
pine  now  mostly  below  us.  We  came  upon  peasants 
carrying  in  hay  and  this  was  the  picture  we  beheld:  A 
narrow  valley  or  opening  in  the  mountains.  A  man  and 
several  women  with  huge  bundles  of  hay  upon  their  heads, 
toiling  up  the  steep  sides  of  the  mountain  to  the  house  and 
barn,  where  the  hay  was  stored  away.  Their  steps  were 
then  retraced  and  more  hay  brought  up.  We  went  over 
the  same  path  and  I  can  testify  that  it  was  hard  work 
without  a  load  of  hay  on  one's  head.  A  little  beyond 
this  we  again  left  the  road  and  for  nearly  an  hour  climbed 
up  the  steep  mountains,  in  many  places  quite  perpendic- 
ular and  at  last  reached  the  summit  of  the  pass.  Again 
we  had  saved  several  miles  distance  by  means  of  the  climb- 
ing. Here  at  the  summit,  was  a  little  hostelry  where 
bread  and  wine  and  various  drinks  were  to  be  had.  From 
this  point  we  could  look  far  over  the  mountains  and  snow 
clad  peaks.  The  woman  who  waited  upon  us  here  kindly 
pointed  out  the  celebrated  St.  Bernard  pass,  or  to  be 
more  correct,  she  pointed  out  the  mountains  through 
which  it  leads. 


—    212   — 

A  little  further,  we  found  that  the  road  literally  drops, 
from  this  great  eminence,  to  the  valley  of  the  Rhone  below 
in  which  we  could  see  the  distant  town  of  Martigny.  The 
road  descends  by  a  zig-zag  course  nearly  the  whole  way, 
and  is  lined  by  trees,  and  affords  delightful  views.  My 
friend  Davis  and  I  had  been  ahead  of  the  rest  since  morn- 
ing and  being  alone  we  again  climbed  down  along  a  rugged 
water-course,  which  was  then  dry.  We  again  saved  con- 
siderable by  walking  and  arrived  at  the  hotel  in  Martigny 
more  than  two  hours  before  the  carriages  which  left  Cham- 
ounix  the  same  morning.  To  say  that  we  were  tired,  is  to 
put  it  mildly.  This  walk  showed,  that  there  are  some  la- 
dies in  America  who  have  a  remarkable  endurance.  The 
distance  is  twenty-five  miles,  mostly  up  hill,  some  part  of 
the  way  breathing  is  hard  on  account  of  the  elevation,  and 
yet  several  ladies  walked  the  entire  distance  that  day. 
Among  those  who  walked  were  two  daughters  of  a  Kan- 
sas banker  and  who  seemed  to  be  less  fatigued  than  any 
of  the  others,  though  they  were  young,  small  and  of  deli- 
cate form. 

Why  one  can  walk  so  much  and  so  far  in  the  moun- 
tains is  accounted  for  in  various  ways  but  I  am  quite  cer- 
tain that  none  of  us  would  care  to  take  such  a  tramp  here. 
I  think  the  most  reasonable  explanation  is  this;  The 
scenery  is  so  grand,  the  surroundings  so  unusual,  that 
the  mind  is  devoted  to  these,  takes  pleasure  in  them,  and 
the  act  of  walking  becomes  altogether  a  reflex  muscular 
action  and  thus  less  exhausting. 

One  of  the  chief  characteristics  of  an  Englishman, 
and  always  mentioned  when  contrasted  with  an  American, 


—  213  — 

is,  I  believe,  his  walking  qualities.  The  Englishman  de- 
lights in  walking,  the  American  detests  it,  as  a  rule.  A 
fair  idea  of  what  an  Englishman  thinks  is  good  walking 
may  be  gathered  from  the  following  which  I  quote  from 
a  well  known  writer  on  the  Alps.  "I  remember  speaking 
about  pedestrianism  to  a  well-known  mountaineer  some 
years  ago,  and  venturing  to  remark  that  a  man  who 
averaged  thirty  miles  a  day  might  be  considered  a  good 
walker. . 

"'A  fair  walker,'  he  said, — '  a  fair  walker. '  'What 
then  would  you  consider  good  walking? '  'Well,'  he  re- 
plied, 'I  will  tell  you.  Some  time  back  a  friend  and  I  agreed 
to  go  to  Switzerland,  but  a  short  time  afterward  he  wrote 
to  say  he  ought  to  let  me  know  that  a  young  and  delicate 
lad  was  going  with  him,  who  would  not  be  equal  to  great 
things — in  fact,  he  would  not  be  able  to  do  more  than 
fifty  miles  a  day!'  'What  became  of  the  young  and  deli- 
cate lad? '  'He  lives !'  '  And  who  was  your  extraordinary 
friend?'  'Charles  Hudson!'  (Mr.  Hudson  was  lost  on  the 
Matterhorn  in  1865.)  I  have  every  reason  to  believe  that 
the  gentlemen  referred  to  were  equal  to  walking  more 
than  fifty  miles  a  day,  but  they  were  exceptional,  not  good 
walkers.' ' 

Now  if  a  gentleman  who  can  "do  fifty  miles  a  day" 
in  the  mountains,  up  hill  and  down,  over  ice  and  snow, 
now  among  the  clouds,  now  in  the  valley,  scaling  almost 
inaccessible  cliffs,  or  following  beaten  paths,  is  not  a  good 
walker,  but  only  fair,  it  would  be  interesting  to  know,  if 
some  kind  English  friend  would  inform  us,  what  a  good 
walker  could  do. 


—  214  — 

From  Martigny  we  went  by  rail,  along  the  Rhone, 
to  Visp,  where  a  part  of  the  party  walked  to  the  little 
town  at  the  end  of  the  wagon  road,  which  leads  thence 
to  Zermatt.  The  rest  rode  horses,  and  some  of  the  ladies 
were  carried  in  chairs  across  the  pass  to  the  same  place. 
The  only  way  of  getting  from  Visp  to  the  Zermatt  valley 
is  to  walk,  or  ride  a  horse  or  to  be  carried  in  a  chair.  The 
pass  is  not  only  high  but  there  is  no  possibility  of  mak- 
ing a  wagon  road  across  it  except  by  the  outlay  of  vast 
sums  of  money  and  countless  days  of  work.  At  the  little 
town  on  the  Zermatt  side  of  the  pass  we  took  carriages 
and  rode  down  to  Zermatt,  the  road  leading  along  the 
canon  and  at  times  merely  hanging  to  the  high  sides  of 
mountains  with  a  sheer  descent  on  one  side  of  hundreds 
of  feet.  Snow  clad  peaks  are  on  all  sides.  The  Weiss- 
horn,  with  her  virgin  snow,  the  great  glaciers,  the  rushing 
torrents,  all  make  a  grand  and  impressive  scene. 

About  eight  o'clock  we  alighted  from  our  convey- 
ances before  the  Zermatter  Hof,  had  supper  and  received 
our  American  mail  which  was  always  an  interesting  mo- 
ment with  us. 

The  first  morning  after  our  arrival  at  Zermatt  was 
bright  and  lovely.  The  valley  was  green,  the  mountains 
grey,  the  snow  caps  and  glaciers  white  and  glistening 
in  the  sunlight  and  the  stream  ioaming  and  seething  and 
roaring  along  its  bed  in  a  perfect  Jury.  To  the  south- 
west, the  great  triangular  peak  of  the  Matterhorn  pierced 
the  sky;  to  the  south,  the  Monte  Rosa,  covered  with 
snow  in  its  virgin  whiteness;  across  the  vast  expanse  of 
snow  in  this  direction  lies  the  pass  into  Italy.  At  the 
hotels  are  tourists  from  every  part  of  the  world  which  our 
western  civilization  has  touched  and  quickened   into   life. 


—  215  — 

Americans  and  Englishmen  predominate.  Here  our  na- 
tive language  was  heard,  almost  to  the  exclusion  of  the 
German.  Around  the  hotels  are  pretty  grounds,  with 
walks  and  shrubs  and  flower  beds.  As  you  come  out 
from  the  hotels  in  the  morning,  you  will  see  numberless 
guides  with  their  ice-axes,  alpenstocks,  coils  of  rope,  and 
shoes  with  thickly  studded  soles;  and  browned  skins — faces 
and  hands  almost  copper  colored  from  their  continuous 
out-door  life  in  the  mountains.  On  every  mountain  peak 
they  have  faced  danger.  In  every  direction  they  have 
explored  the  vast  recesses  of  the  Alps,  to  find  some  excur- 
sion more  dangerous  and  more  difficult  than  those  already 
known.  It  is  the  intimate  knowledge  of  such  places  that 
furnishes  them  employment.  A  great  number  of  the  tour- 
ists are  experienced  mountain  climbers  and  are  in  search 
of  something  more  difficult  and  more  dangerous  than 
they  have  yet  achieved.  Hence  the  occupation  of  the 
guides.  They  all  have  a  book  of  references  in  which  the 
employer  who  has  made  a  successful  ascent  or  excursion, 
writes  a  recommendation.  Some  of  these  guides  have 
won  world-wide  reputation  for  their  accuracy,  reliability 
and  faithfulness.  Others  are  not  to  be  trusted.  In  noth- 
ing else  should  the  tourist  be  more  careful  than  the  selec- 
tion of  a  guide  it  he  intends  to  do  any  difficult  climbing. 
When  it  is  remembered  that  under  the  surface  of  the 
snow  are  hundreds  of  bergschrunds;  that  on  many  a 
ledge  not  more  than  a  foot  wide  you  must  pass  precipices 
hundreds  and  in  manv  cases  thousands  of  feet  from  your 
foothold  to  the  rocks  and  ice  beneath,  that  a  single  false 
step  may  precipitate  an  avalanche  of  stone  and  rock  and 
ice  upon  the  whole  party;  that  a  single  slip  of  the  foot 
may  throw  the  whole  party  over  precipices  to  the  ice  of 


2l6   — 

the  glaciers  four  thousand  feet  below;  that  even  in  some 
instances  a  shout  or  loud  voice  may  start  upon  its 
course  of  destruction  a  great  avalanche,  the  reader 
may  understand  how  important  it  is  to  have  an  effi- 
cient and  faithful  guide.  In  many  cases  it  is  necessary 
for  the  whole  party  to  worm  themselves  along,  one 
step  at  a  time,  and  then  your  guide  takes  hold  of  your 
feet  with  his  hands  and  places  you  in  position,  and  then 
cautions  you  to  stand  perfectly  still  until  he  cuts  a  step  in 
the  ice,  and  then  he  carefully  guides  your  foot  with  his 
hands  one  step  forward  and  thus  you  span  some  ice 
bridge  at  a  dizzy  height,  or  ascend  some  steep  wall  of  ice 
in  some  niche  or  gully  of  the  mountain.  At  such  times 
you  are  wholly  at  the  mercy  of  your  guides;  and  your 
safety  and  even  your  life  depends  upon  their  skill  and  abil- 
ity and  endurance.  But  however  skillful  and  experienced, 
accidents  will  happen.  Probably  no  more  experienced 
party  ever  attempted  the  ascent  of  a  mountain  than  the 
party  with  Whymper  in  the  ascent  of  the  Matterhorn  in 
1865.  Yet  the  disastrous  result  of  that  ill-fated  expedition 
in  which  four  of  the  seven  who  composed  the  party  lost 
their  lives,  but  illustrates  that  the  mountain  climber  al- 
ways takes  his  life  in  his  hands  when  he  goes  into  the 
mountains. 

The  dangers  to  be  encountered,  in  the  mountains, 
are  well  illustrated  by  the  following  account. 

Beginning  on  page  54,  "Scrambles  Amongst  The 
Alps,"  Mr.  Whymper  tells  of  a  remarkable  accident 
which  he  experienced  while  alone  on  the  Matterhorn  in 
1862.  "The  Col  du  Lion  was  passed,  and  fifty  yards 
more  would  have  placed  me  on  the  '  Great  Staircase '  down 
which  one  can  run.     But  on  arriving  at  an  angle  of  the 


217    — 


cliffs  of  the  Tete  du  Lion,  while  skirting  the  upper  edge 
of  the  snow  which  abuts  against  them,  I  found  that  the 
heat  of  the  two  past  days  had  nearly  obliterated  the  steps 
which  had  been  cut  when  coming  up.  The  rocks  hap- 
pened to  be  impracticable  just  at  this  corner,  so  nothing 
could  be  done  except  make  the  steps  afresh. 

The  snow  was  too  hard  to  beat  or  tread  down,  and 
at  the  angle  it  was  all  but  ice;  half  a  dozen  steps  only 
were  required,  and  then  the  ledges  could  be  followed 
again.  So  I  held  to  the  rock  with  my  right  hand  and 
prodded  at  the  snow  with  the  point  of  my  stick  until  a 
good  step  was  made,  and  then,  leaning  around  the  angle, 
did  the  same  for  the  other  side.  So  far  well,  but  in  at- 
tempting to  pass  the  corner  (to  the  present  moment  I  can- 
not tell  how  it  happened)  I  slipped  and  fell. 

The  slope  was  steep  on  which  this  took  place,  and 
descended  to  the  top  of  a  gully  that  led  down  through 
two  subordinate  buttresses  toward  the  Glacier  du  Lion, 
which  was  just  seen  a  thousand  feet  below. 

The  knapsack  brought  my  head  down  first,  and  I 
pitched  into  some  rocks  about  a  dozen  feet  below;  they 
caught  something  and  tumbled  me  off  the  edge  head  over 
heels  into  the  gully.  The  baton  was  dashed  from  my 
hands,  and  I  whirled  downward  in  a  series  of  bounds, 
each  longer  than  the  last — now  over  ice,  now  into  rocks, 
striking  my  head  four  or  five  times,  each  time  with  in- 
creased force.  The  last  bound  sent  me  spinning  through 
the  air  in  a  leap  of  fifty  or  sixty  feet,  from  one  side  of  the 
gully  to  the  other,  and  I  struck  the  rocks,  luckily,  with 
the  whole  of  my  left  side.  They  caught  my  clothes  for 
a  moment,  and  I  fell  back  on  to  the  snow  with  motion  ar- 
rested; my  head  fortunately  came  the  right  side  up,   and 


—    218    — 

a  few  frantic  catches  brought  me  to  a  halt  in  the  neck  of 
the  gulley  and  on  the  verge  of  the  precipice. 

Baton,  hat  and  veil  skimmed  by  and  disappeared, 
and  the  crash  of  the  rocks  which  I  had  started,  as  they 
fell  on  the  glacier  told  how  narrow  had  been  the  escape 
from  utter  destruction.  As  it  was,  I  tell  nearly  two  hun- 
dred feet  in  seven  or  eight  bounds.  Ten  feet  more  would 
have  taken  me  in  one  gigantic  leap  of  eight  hundred  feet 
on  to  the  glacier  below. 

The  situation  was  still  sufficiently  serious.  The  rocks 
could  not  be  let  go  for  a  moment,  and  the  blood  was 
spurting  out  of  more  than  twenty  cuts.  The  most  serious 
ones  were  in  the  head  and  I  vainly  tried  to  close  them 
with  one  hand  while  holding  on  with  the  other.  It  was 
useless;  the  blood  jerked  out  in  blinding  jets  at  each  pul- 
sation. At  last,  in  a  moment  of  inspiration,  I  kicked 
out  a  big  lump  of  snow  and  stuck  it  as  a  plaster  on  my 
head.  The  idea  was  a  happy  one,  and  the  flow  of  blood 
diminished;  then,  scrambling  up,  I  got,  not  a  moment 
too  soon,  to  a  place  of  safety  and  fainted  away." 

This  was  a  remarkable  escape,  probably  without 
parallel  in  mountain  climbing  in  the  Alps.  The  sensa- 
tions which  one  experiences  in  such  circumstances  are 
graphically  described  by  Mr.  Whymper  in  the  following 
note.  "As  it  seldom  happens  that  one  survives  such  a 
fall,  it  may  be  interesting  to  record  what  my  sensations 
were  during  its  occurrence.  I  was  perfectly  conscious  ot 
what  was  happening,  and  felt  each  blow,  but,  like  a  pa- 
tient under  chloroform,  experienced  no  pain.  Each  blow 
was,  naturally,  more  severe  than  that  which  preceded  it, 
and  I  distinctly  remember  thinking;  well  if  the  next  is 
harder  still,  that  will  be  the  end!    Like  persons  who  have 


—  2ig  — 

been  rescued  from  drowning,  I  remember  that  the  recollec- 
tion of  a  multitude  of  things  rushed  through  my  head, 
many  of  them  trivialities  or  absurdities  which  had  been 
forgotten  long  before;  and,  more  remarkable,  this  bound- 
ing through  space  did  not  feel  disagreeable.  But  I  think 
that  in  no  very  great  distance  more  conciousness  as  well 
as  sensation  would  have  been  lost,  and  upon  that  I  base 
my  belief,  improbable  as  it  seems,  that  death  by  a  fall 
from  a  great  height  is  as  painless  an  end  as  can  be  ex- 
perienced. The  battering  was  very  rough,  yet  no  bones 
were  broken.  The  loss  of  blood,  although  so  great,  did 
not  seem  to  be  permanently  injurious.  The  only  serious 
effect  has  been  the  reduction  of  a  naturally  retentive 
memory  to  a  very  commonplace  one;  and  although  my 
recollections  of  more  distant  occurrences  remain  unshaken, 
the  events  of  that  particular  day  would  be  clean  gone  but 
for  the  few  notes  which  were  written  down  bef6re  the  ac- 
cident." 


©ropier  24. 

Scrambles  Around  Zermatt. 

As  we  came  out  irom  breakfast,  we  saw  many 
guides  about  the  hotels  waiting  for  employment, 
some  waiting  for  parties  who  were  to  make  some  easy 
excursion.  Those  who  go  on  difficult  ascents,  start  early 
in  the  morning,  generally  from  one  to  three  o'clock,  or 
start  the  night  before  and  make  the  easier  part  of  the 
trip  that  evening  and  are  ready  to  start  on  the  difficult 
and  dangerous  climbing  at  the  first  tinge  of  the  morning. 
This  is  desirable  because  the  morning  and  early  part  of 
the  day  is  clear  and  free  from  snow  storms,  and  the 
merciless  pelting  of  sleet  and  hail,  which  may  be  en- 
countered later  in  the  day,  and  during  which  progress  is 
impossible.  Quite  often,  the  innocent  looking  bank  of 
white  clouds  that  are  seen  to  gather  about  the  peak  of 
the  mountain  about  eleven  o'clock,  and  which  shuts  out 
from  view  the  tops  of  the  peaks,  are  fearful  snow  or  hail 
storms  and  in  which  the  lightning  leaps  in  awful  grandeur 
about  the  cliffs  and  rocks,  and  from  which  one  may  well 
ask  to  be  spared.  In  one  of  Whymper's  attempts  to 
scale  the  Matterhorn,  he  was  overtaken  by  such  a  storm, 
and  those  in  the  valley  below  saw  nothing  but  a  bank  of 
white  clouds  about  two-thirds  of  the  way  to  the  top. 
They  suspected  nothing,  and  when  he  succeeded  in  get- 


221     — 

ting  back  and  related  his  dreadful  sufferings  on  the  moun- 
tain the  story  was  incredible  to  his  hearers. 

Our  first  day  at  Zermatt  was   an   eventful   day  to 
three  of  us.     Nothing   had  been  arranged  for  that  day, 
and  each  one  was  left  to  his  own  inclinations  to  do  what 
he  would.     Three  of  us,  Prof.  E.  E.  Griffith,  late  Demo- 
cratic candidate  for  Superintendent  of  Public  Instruction 
oi  Indiana,  Mr.    Fred.  C.  Davis,    of  Auburn,   and  myself 
started  out  without  a  guide,  not  intending  to  go  far,  nor 
where  it   was  dangerous.   But  we   learned  that  day  that 
one  inexperienced   in   the  Alps  does  not  always   know 
what   is  and  what  is   not  dangerous.     We  climbed  the 
hills  west  of  the  little  town  and  from  this  point  we  could 
drop  a  stone  down  upon  the  roofs  of  many  of  the  houses. 
They  are  all  covered  with  slabs  of  stone  instead  of  shin- 
gles.    We  followed  the  rushing  stream,  crossed  it  again 
to  ascend  an  easy  path  up  the  mountain  on  the  other  side. 
At  an  elevation  of  a  thousand  feet  above  the  valley  the 
writer  found  a  few  isolated  sprigs  of  the  famous  Alpine 
flower  known  as  Edelweiss.     To  gather  this  flower  is  one 
of  the  things  of  which  we  could  boast.     It  only  grows, 
except  in  rare  cases,  at  great  elevations.     To  find  it  there 
was  great  luck  as  well  as  a  great  surprise.     To  my  right 
was  a  huge  rock  and  beyond  that  was  the  canon  through 
which,  with  a  mighty  roar,  ran  the  frenzied  torrent  fed 
by  the  great  glaciers  of  the  higher  mountains.     Directly 
in  front  of  us  was  a  forest  of  pine  and  fir.     The  hillside 
was   so  steep  that    we  ascended  with    great    difficulty. 
Finding  Edelweiss  there  stimulated  us  to  go  on  in  search 
of  more.     It  did  not  occur  to  us  that  the  presence  of  this 
flower  there  only  proved  that  this  mountain  was  seldom 
visited.     For  these  mountains  are   searched   everywhere 


—    222    — 

that  one  can  safely  climb  by  men  and  boys  for  this  plant 
which  is  readily  sold  to  tourists.  After  a  hard  climb  we 
reached  a  sloping  or  sort  of  shelving  plateau  probably 
two  or  three  hundred  feet  wide  and  over  this  the  climb- 
ing was  comparatively  easy.  At  the  west  side,  however, 
there  was  a  wall  of  rock  as  nearly  perpendicular  as  it 
could  well  be  and  from  500  to  600  feet  high.  It  was 
rough  and  seamed,  and  had  projections  and  terraces 
and  it  seemed  that  we  could  easily  climb  it  and  so  we 
could.  It  proved  not  to  be  the  ascent  but  the  descent 
that  was  difficult.  Yet  I  do  not  think,  at  first,  any  one 
of  us  thought  of  climbing  that  wall.  But  after  climbing  upon 
a  projection  of  it,  the  writer  found  this  projection  cov- 
ered with  moss  and  soil  from  disintegrated  rock,  and  the 
whole  surface  almost  white  with  the  wax-like  flower  of  the 
Edelweiss.  Calling  to  my  companions,  we  were  soon 
busy  gathering  the  flower  and  we  all  obtained  a  greater 
quantity,  I  venture  to  say,  than  any  tourist  has  gathered  in 
the  Alps  tor  years  past-  But  how  were  we  to  get  down 
from  this  place?  Below  us  the  forest  of  pine  and  fir 
looked  like  a  patch  of  brush  wood;  further  down,  was 
the  little  village  of  Zermatt.  With  an  involuntary  shud- 
der we  turned  our  faces  toward  the  rocky  wall  before  us. 
It  seemed  safer  and  easier  to  go  on  up  in  hope  of  reach- 
ing the  summit  and  finding  a  trail  down  to  the  Zermatt 
valley.  Accordingly  up  we  went.  At  some  considerable 
distance  above  this,  a  great  ledge  projected,  the  strata 
of  which  was  at  right  angles  to  that  of  the  rocky  wall- 
like side  which  we  were  ascending.  At  this  point  Prof. 
Griffith  went  to  the  right  and  we  to  the  left  or  south  side 
of  the  projecting  rock.  For  a  hundred  feet  farther  we 
found  a  sloping  pile  of  loose  rock  and  gravel  up  which 


—    223    — 

we  could  almost  run  with  the  aid  of  our  alpenstocks.  At 
the  end  of  this  again  was  a  wall  of  rock  which  seemed 
to  be,  and  no  doubt  could  have  been  easily  sur- 
mounted; and,  I  think,  the  summit  easily  reached.  But 
we  had  no  opportunity  to  know  certainly.  I  was  a  few 
yards  ahead  of  Mr.  Davis  when  we  both  heard  a  shout  or  a 
call  from  Prof.  Griffith  on  the  other  side  of  the  ledge.  We 
could  not  see  him  and  we  could  not  climb  over  the  ledge. 
To  reach  him  we  must  retrace  our  way  to  the  point  of  the 
ledge,  climb  around  it  at  the  risk  of  our  lives,  and 
ascend  on  the  other  side  toward  him.  We  at  once 
started;  and  again  heard  the  call.  It  was  evident  our 
friend  was  in  trouble.  It  was  far  harder  to  descend 
through  this  loose  stuff  than  to  ascend  for  it  was  apt  to 
slip  and  slide  in  large  quantities  and  to  carry  us  over  the 
edge  of  the  precipice.  At  the  point  of  this  ledge  and 
about  three  feet  below  its  level  there  is  a  terrace-like  pro- 
jection a  foot  or  eighteen  inches  wide.  To  pass  the 
point  of  the  projecting  ledge,  it  was  necessary  to  get 
dowrt  to  this  and  work  along  to  the  north.  In  attempt- 
ing to  do  so  I  put  the  point  of  my  alpenstock  down  into 
some  debris  which  had  collected  there  and  was  holding 
to  a  rough  projection  above  with  my  left  hand.  The  iron 
point  of  my  alpenstock,  when  it  came  into  contact  with 
the  rock  below,  suddenly  slipped  outward  and  off  the 
ridge,  and,  for  an  instant,  I  swung  off  over  the  frightful 
abyss.  Luckily  my  heel  caught  in  the  crevice  and  I  suc- 
ceeded in  getting  back  to  my  former  position.  Never 
will  I  forget  the  sensations  of  that  moment.  As  my  al- 
penstock shot  out  from  its  hold  below  and  I  found  myself 
literally  hanging  by  my  left  hand  hundreds  of  feet  above 
the  ragged  rocks  below,    I  seemed  to  take  in  instantly 


—    224    — 

the  whole  valley,  the  rocks,  the  village,  the  snow-clad 
peaks,  and  even  in  that  supreme  moment  of  peril,  I 
remember  realizing  how  beautiful  the  snow,  sparkling  in 
the  bright  sunlight,  looked  upon  the  mountain  beyond. 
Having  recovered  myselt,  and  being  seated  upon  the  edge 
of  the  precipice,  I  was  as  weak  as  a  child.  Mr.  Davis  finally 
attempted  to  get  down  and  succeeded.  He  passed  along 
the  ledge  and  out  of  sight.  Presently  he  shouted  back 
that  Prof.  Griffith  had  lost  his  alpenstock  and  was  sitting 
astride  a  ridge  fifty  feet  or  more  above  our  level  and 
unable  to  go  forward  or  backward.  The  knowledge  of 
his  danger  seemed  to  put  a  new  life  into  me  and  I  again 
began  to  descend  and  succeeded  in  following  Mr.  Davis. 
Getting  around  to  the  north  side  of  the  ledge,  I  saw  Prof. 
Griffith  on  his  perch  with  a  most  woe-begone  expression 
on  his  face.  We  climbed  up  towards  him.  There  was 
nothing  he  could  do  but  to  get  to  his  feet  and  walk  along 
a  ledge  a  few  inches  wide  and  ten  or  fifteen  feet  long 
toward  a  great  rock,  while,  on  either  side  it  was  many  feet 
to  the  rocks  below. 

This  he  attempted  and  reached  the  rock  and  finally 
attained  our  level. 

It  is  much  easier  to  ascend  than  to  descend  a  per- 
pendicular wall.  This  we  realized  that  day.  In  going 
down  a  short  distance,  I  discovered  the  lost  alpenstock, 
neatly  balanced  over  some  rocks  at  the  very  edge  of  the 
precipice.  They  agreed  to  wait  until  I  made  an  effort 
to  secure  it.  After  ten  minutes  careful  descent,  I  was 
just  about  to  reach  it,  when  to  my  disappointment  it 
slowly  glided  away  and  disappeared  in  some  brush  far 
below.  I  was  now  perhaps  fifty  feet  below  Davis  who 
be^an  to  descend  toward  me,  when  he  accidently  started 


The  Mattekiiorn, 


—    225    — 

a  huge  boulder  which  went  down  the  mountain  side  not 
three  feet  to  my  right,  and  was  followed  by  a  score  ol 
smaller  stones  any  one  of  which  might  have  caused  me 
serious  injury.  We  again  moved  on  with  great  caution, 
and  three  hours  hard  climbing  brought  us  to  the  trail 
which  led  along  the  torrent  to  the  town.  We  were  in 
a  very  jaded  and  exhausted  condition  when  we  reached 
our  hotel,  and  it  was  solemnly  agreed  by  the  three  of  us, 
that  we  would  not  hereafter  climb  even  a  foot-hill  with- 
out a  guide.  After  we  had  reached  a  place  of  safety, 
Griffith  remarked:  "Boys,  you  don't  know  how  utterly 
helpless  a  man  feels,  on  a  mountain,  without  an  alpen- 
stock." 

The  second  morning  after  our  arrival  at  Zermatt 
had  been  set  apart  for  the  ascent  of  the  Matterhorn.  We 
were  to  be  called  at  three  o'clock  in  the  morning.  What 
we  were  about  to  undertake  can  only  be  realized  by  those 
who  have  had  the  actual  experience,  or  who  have  had  the 
pleasure  of  reading  Mr.  Whymper's  account  of  his  at- 
tempts to  scale  this  huge  peak,  or  those  who  have  heard 
Dr.  Jordan  deliver  his  celebrated  lecture  on  the  "Ascent 
of  the  Matterhorn."  Prior  to  1865,  this  mountain  had 
never  been  scaled,  though  Prof.  Tyndall  and  many  other 
scientists  had  attacked  it  upon  almost  every  side.  In 
that  year  Whymper  and  his  party  reached  the  top.  In 
the  descent,  the  guide,  Michael  Croz,  was  placing  Mr. 
Hadow's  feet  in  position  and  had  just  turned  away  to 
take  a  step  torward  himself,  when  Mr.  Hadow  slipped, 
struck  the  guide  throwing  him  over  the  precipice,  which 
threw  Lord  Douglas  and  one  other  of  the  party  after 
them,  and  for  a  moment  they  hung  over  the  awful  abyss 
four  thousand  feet  above  the  ice  and  snow  in  the  glacier 

15 


—    226    — 

beneath.  Then  suddenly  the  rope  with  which  they  were 
tied  together  broke  directly  in  front  of  the  guide,  Peter 
Taugwalder,  precipitating  the  four  to  the  glacier  beneath. 
Peter  Taugwalder,  Mr.  Whymper  and  Taugwalder' s  son 
were  left  behind.  However,  no  one  can  realize  the  diffi- 
culty and  danger  of  climbing  the  Matterhorn  by  a  mere 
description  of  the  ascent. 

In  the  evening  before  our  party  was  to  start,  Mr. 
Griffith  and  myself  were  strolling  out  from  the  hotel 
towards  the  little  chapel  and  passing  through  the  little 
churchyard  our  attention  was  attracted  to  a  monument 
which  had  been  erected  in  memory  of  Lord  Douglas, 
Mr.  Hadow  and  the  others  who  perished  in  the  first 
successful  ascent.  How  much  this  inspired  us  with  zeal 
for  the  morrow's  undertaking  may  be  better  imagined 
than  described.  Promptly  at  three  o'clock  the  next 
morning,  in  the  midst  of  a  dream  in  which  I  had  suc- 
cessfully scaled  the  awful  mountain  and  stood  victorious 
on  the  top  of  the  Matterhorn,  a  loud  rap  at  my  door 
aroused  me  from  my  slumbers.  I  at  once  arose  and 
descended  to  the  dining  room  where  I  found  most  of  the 
party  assembled,  and  after  breakfast  we  were  ready  to 
start.  Our  guide  was  Peter  Taugwalder,  the  son  of  the 
Peter  Taugwalder,  who  was  with  Whymper  in  the  expe- 
dition before  referred  to.  I  have  since  learned  that 
Whymper  did  not  entertain  a  very  high  opinion  of  this 
young  man  at  that  time,  though  he  now  bears  an  exce£ 
lent  reputation  as  a  trustworthy  guide.  Two  other 
guides,  whose  names  I  have  forgotten,  were  also  to  ac- 
company us.  As  we  came  out  of  the  hotel  in  the  twilight 
of  the  early  morning,  we  met  our  guides  fully  equipped 
with  ropes,    ice  axes  and  alpenstocks.      We  at  once  set 


227    

out  towards  the  mountain;  we  followed  the  little  valley 
towards  the  south,  across  the  rushing  stream ;  began  to 
ascend  on  the  other  side;  skirted  the  spur  of  a  small 
mountain,  again  crossed  the  torrent  on  a  log  bridge  and 
were  then  upon  the  base  of  the  Matterhorn  itself. 

For  the  first  two  miles  after  this  the  climbing  was 
comparatively  easy  and  at  the  end  of  that  distance,  we 
had  reached  the  hotel  which  had  been  built  close  to  the 
edge   of  the  great  glacier  which  leads  down  from   the 
Matterhorn  itself  towards  Monte  Rosa  and  across  which 
the  pass  into  Italy  leads.     Thence  the  trail  leads  over 
comparatively  level  ground  on  the  spur  of  the  mountain 
with  great  glaciers  on  either  side;  thence  along  the  edge 
of  the  glacier  at  the  south  side  of  the  trail  a  half  mile  or 
more.     There  is  at  the  north  a  high   ridge    which  we 
climbed  some  fifty  or  sixty  feet  by  means  of  the  project- 
ing crags  and  the  niches  in  the  face  of  the  rock.     The 
face  of  this  ridge  which  we  surmounted  is  nearly  or  quite 
perpendicular.     Now  the  trail  again  leads    over  a  com- 
paratively level  surface,   but  is  so  narrow  that  one  is  in 
danger  all  the  time  of  falling  over  the  perpendicular  edge 
or  slipping  off  and  sliding  down  the  north  side  a  mile  or 
two  into  the  great   Matterhorngletscher.     Having  safely 
crossed  this  we  had  arrived  at  the  point  where   actual 
climbing  began.     Here  the  guide  stopped    us  and    ar- 
ranged the  party  in  single  file,  at  intervals  of  fifteen  or 
sixteen  feet,   and  then   uncoiled  a  long  rope,  secured  it 
firmly  to  the  body  of  the  foremost   carried  it  back  to  the 
next,  again  securely  fastened  it  around  his  body,  and  so 
on  until  all  were  thus  tied  together.     He  then  secured 
the  rope  to   his  own  body  in  front,   and  with  a  guide  in 
the  middle  and  rear  of  the  party  we  began   to  c  limb  a 


—    228    — 

perpendicular  face  of  the  mountain  some  two  hundred 
feet  high.  In  many  places  on  the  face  of  the  rock,  the 
climber  stood  on  terraces  not  more  than  six  inches  in 
width.  To  have  fallen  would  have  been  to  take  a  great 
toboggan  slide  some  two  or  three  miles  over  the  ice  and 
snow,  whose  destination  would  have  been  unknown. 
Thus  moving  along  with  difficulty  from  crag  to  crag, 
from  terrace  to  terrace,  always  keeping  the  rope  drawn 
tightly  between  each  other,  we  surmounted  this  lace  of 
the  mountain  and  stood  upon  what  seemed  to  be  a  huge 
pile  of  loose  rocks  and  boulders,  ten  thousand  feet  above 
the  sea.  The  day  was  exquisitely  fine,  not  a  cloud  was 
to  be  seen.  The  little  village  of  Zermatt  could  be  seen 
some  miles  away,  and  the  snow  on  Monte  Rosa  glistened 
and  gleamed  in  the  first  rays  of  the  rising  sun;  the  noise 
from  roaring  torrents  seemed  to  come  from  all  directions; 
the  great  dome  of  the  Matterhorn,  itself,  now  close  by, 
seemed  cold  and  solemn  and  to  be  a  personification  of 
danger  itself. 

From  this  we  proceeded  over  the  loos?  rocks  some 
distance,  and  again  were  under  the  almost  perpendicular 
sides  of  another  great  wall  of  rocks.  This  we  sur- 
mounted as  before.  Here,  two  of  the  party,  unable  or 
unwilling  to  go  farther,  were  untied  and  left  in  a  secure 
place  to  await  our  return.  Again  we  went  on,  getting 
higher  and  higher,  until  we  arrived  at  the  first  cabin 
nearly  twelve  thousand  feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea. 

The  climbing  thus  far  had  occupied  about  six  hours 
of  very  exhausting  labor.  We  were  now  all  ready  to  eat 
dinner.  The  provisions  were  spread  in  the  little  cabin, 
and  some  cold  ice  water  was  collected  from  a  little  stream 
which   was  melting  from  the  ice   in  the   morning  sun. 


—    229    

Our  meal  consisted  of  bread,  cheese,  wine  and  water,  but 
I  believe,  I  relished  it  the  best  of  any  meal  of  which  I 
had  ever  partaken. 

While  resting  here  at  the  first  cabin,  we  had  a  chance 
to  see  what  every  writer  of  the  Matterhorn  region  tells  us 
concerning  the  falling  of  the  stones  down  the  sides  and 
face  of  the  mountain.  The  strata  of  the  Mitterhorn 
seems  at  intervals  to  run  at  right  angles  with  each  other, 
and  in  many  places,  seams  or  fissures  exist  in  the  rocks 
into  which  the  snow  drives  and  melts  during  the  day; 
freezes  at  night,  thus  each  day,  pushing  great  boulders 
a  little  farther  towards  the  side  till  at  last  through  this 
repeated  action  of  the  frost  and  sun,  they  are  forced  off, 
and  run  down  the  sides  in  great  avalanches  of  stone. 
Indeed,  one  of  the  greatest  dangers  in  making  the  ascent, 
is  the  probability  of  being  overtaken  by  one  of  these 
showers  of  falling  stones;  consequently,  the  trail  leads 
over  the  northeastern  edge,  or  always  close  to  this  ridge, 
and  an  attempt  to  scale  it  upon  the  face  would  be  a  very 
rash  undertaking. 

While  sitting  on  the  edge  of  a  great  precipice  near 
the  first  cabin,  a  great  quantity  of  stone  was  suddenly 
detached  from  the  face  of  the  Matterhorn,  on  which  we 
looked,  at  a  distance  of  nearly  two  thousand  feet  above 
us,  and  started  down  the  sides  with  a  terrific  noise  which 
echoed  and  reverberated  among  the  mountains,  with  a 
cloud  ol  dust  behind  it,  one  huge  mass  taking  the  lead, 
bounding  from  terrace  to  terrace  and  from  ridge  to  ridge 
with  deafening  intonations,  while  two  or  three  hundred 
smaller  stones  came  yelping  behind.  It  was  an  awful 
sight.  It  illustrates  in  a  very  emphatic  way  the  chief 
danger  of  our  ascent.     A  little  while   before  this  I  had 


—  230  — 

been  examining  the  face  of  the  mountain  with  a  pair  of 
field  glasses,  more  than  half  of  a  mile  above  me,  I 
had  detected  a  party  of  three  making  a  descent  of  the 
mountain,  and  at  the  time  of  the  avalanche  they  were 
out  of  sight.  Soon  afterwards  they  again  appeared  in 
view,  and  I  was  relieved  to  know  that  they  had  not  been 
in  the  track  of  the  avalanche,  and  some  minutes  later  I 
saw  them  approaching  a  huge  mass  of  snow  which  it  was 
necessary  to  cross.  Never  will  I  forget  how  carefully 
they  approached  it.  The  guide,  after  having  placed  his 
companion  in  position,  carefully  cut  a  step  in  the  ice 
while  the  rear  guide  was  holding  himself  in  position  in 
order  to  be  prepared  in  case  the  foremost  ones  should 
slip,  and  thus,  step  by  step,  they  cut  their  way  across 
the  field  of  ice  which  lay  at  an  angle  of  more  than  forty- 
five  degrees.  Afterwards  I  passed  them  and  discovered 
the  party  to  consist  of  a  tourist  and  two  guides. 

We  had  attained  an  elevation  of  about  two  thousand 
feet  from  the  summit  of  the  peak,  and  it  now  being  late  it 
was  decided  not  to  try  to  reach  it,  although  it  had  been  our 
intention  for  two  of  us,  Mr.  Davis  and  myself,  with  the 
three  guides  to  proceed  to  the  top.  Prior  to  reaching 
the  first  cabin,  I  had  the  misfortune  to  sprain  my  ankle 
on  the  loose  stones,  and  it  became  so  painful  that  it  was 
thought  advisable  that  I  should  not  try  to  reach  the  top. 
We  at  once  began  to  descend.  From  the  first  cabin  the 
writer  was  not  tied  in  the  line,  preferring  to  make  the 
descent  alone,  as  did  some  of  the  others. 

At  one  place  I  am  sure  I  should  not  have  succeeded 
in  getting  down  had  I  not  overtaken  a  party  whose  guide 
kindly  assisted  me.  We  were  about  half  way  down  one 
of  these  perpendicular  places  when  the  guide,  taking  a 


—  231   — 

position,  told  me  to  step  upon  his  shoulder  with  one  foot, 
and  hold  to  the  projecting  rocks  with  one  hand,  and  to 
step  into  his  hands,  which  he  held  as  a  step,  with  my 
other  foot,  and  thus  down  upon  the  terrace  on  which  he 
stood;  he  was  holding  to  nothing,  merely  bracing  himself 
on  the  ledge   below   with  his  feet.      Perceiving  that  I 
hesitated,  he  said,  "  Do  not  be  afraid,  I  am  well  braced." 
Realizing  the  necessity  of  getting  down  off  that  mountain, 
I  determined  to  run  the  risk,  and   did  as  he  instructed 
me,  and  descended  safely  to   his   position.     Some  hard 
climbing  after  this  brought  me  down  upon  the  snow  and 
ice,  which  slopes  off  at  an  angle  of  forty-five  degrees  to 
the  north,  and  along  the  edge  of  which  we  could  walk 
with  comparative  safety.     Late  in  the  evening   I  arrived 
at  the  hotel  in  Zermatt,  after  an  exceedingly  hard  day's 
labor,  yet  feeling  well  repaid. 

.  Before  leaving  the  subject  of  the  Matterhorn,  I  take 
the  liberty  of  giving  Whymper's  own  account  of  the 
tragedy  which  occurred  on  that  mountain  in  1865,  which 
is  substantially  as  follows: 

"  We  started  from  Zermatt  on  the  13th  of  July  at 
half  past  five  on  a  brilliant  and  perfectly  cloudless  morn  - 
ing.  We  were  eight  in  number — Croz,  old  Peter  and  his 
two  sons,  Lord  Francis  Douglas,  Hadow,  Hudson  and  I. 
To  insure  steady  motion,  one  tourist  and  one  native 
walked  together.  The  youngest  Taugwalder  fell  to  my 
share,  and  the  lad  marched  well,  proud  to  be  on  the  ex- 
pedition and  happy  to  show  his  powers.  *  *  *  On 
the  first  day  we  did  not  intend  to  ascend  to  any  great 
height,  and  we  mounted,  accordingly,  very  leisurely, 
picked  up  the  things  which  were  left  in  the  Schwarzsee 
at  eight-twenty,  and  proceeded  thence  along  the  ridge 


232 


connecting  the  Hornli  with  the  Matterhorn.  At  half- 
past  eleven  we  arrived  at  the  base  of  the  actual  peak, 
then  quitted  the  ridge  and  clambered  around  some  ledges 
on  to  the  eastern  lace.  *  *  *  Before  twelve  o'clock 
we  had  found  a  good  position  for  the  tent  at  a  height  of 
eleven  thousand  feet.  We  passed  the  remaining  hours 
of  daylight — some  basking  in  the  sunshine,  some  sketch- 
ing or  collecting — and  when  the  sun  went  down,  giving, 
as  it  departed,  a  glorious  promise  for  the  morrow,  we 
returned  to  the  tent  to  arrange  for  the  night.  Hudson 
made  tea,  I  coffee,  and  we  then  retired,  each  one  to  his 
blanket-bag,  the  Taugwalders,  Lord  Francis  Douglas 
and  myself  occupying  the  tent,  the  others  remaining,  by 
preference,  outside.  Long  after  dusk  the  cliffs  above 
echoed  with  our  laughter  and  with  the  songs  of  the 
guides  for  we  were  happy  that  night  in  camp,  and  feared 
no  evil. 

We  assembled  together  outside  the  tent  before  dawn 
on  the  morning  of  the  14th,  and  started  directly  it  was 
light  enough  to  move.  Young  Peter  came  on  with  us  as 
a  guide,  and  his  brother  returned  to  Zermatt.  We  fol- 
lowed the  route  which  had  been  taken  on  the  previous 
day,  and  in  a  few  minutes  turned  the  rib  which  had 
intercepted  the  view  of  the  eastern  face  from  our  tent 
platform.  The  whole  of  this  great  slope  was  now  re- 
vealed, rising  for  three  thousand  feet  like  a  huge  natural 
staircase.  Some  parts  were  more  and  others  were  less 
easy,  but  we  were  not  once  brought  to  a  halt  by  any 
serious  impediment,  for  when  an  obstruction  was  met  in 
front  it  could  always  be  turned  to  the  right  or  to  the  left. 
For  the  greater  part  of  the  way  there  was  indeed  no 
occasion    for  the   rope,      and   sometimes     Hudson    led, 


—  233  — 

sometimes  myself.  At  six-twenty  we  had  attained  a 
height  of  twelve  thousand  eight  hundred  feet,  and  halted 
for  half  an  hour;  we  then  continued  the  ascent  without  a 
break  until  nine  fifty-five,  when  we  stopped  for  fifty 
minutes  at  a  height  of  fourteen  thousand  feet.  Twice  we 
struck  the  Northeastern  ridge,  and  followed  it  for  some 
little  distance — to  no  advantage,  for  it  was  usually 
more  rotten  and  steep  and  always  more  difficult,  than 
the  face.  Still,  we  kept  near  to  it,  lest  stones  perchance 
might  fall. 

We  had  now  arrived  at  the  foot  of  that  part  which, 
from  the  Riftelberg  or  from  Zermatt,  seems  perpendicular 
or  overhanging,  and  could  no  longer  continue  on  the  east- 
ern side.  For  a  little  distance  we  ascended  by  snow 
upon  the  arete — that  is,  the  ridge — descending  toward 
Zermatt,  and  then  by  common  consent  turned  over  to 
the  right,  or  to  the  northern  side.  Before  doing  so  we 
made  a  change  in  the  order  of  ascent.  Croz  went 
first,  I  followed,  Hudson  came  third,  Hadow  and  old 
Peter  were  last.  'Now,'  said  Croz  as  he  led  off,  'now 
for  something  altogether  different.'  The  work  became 
difficult,  and  required  caution.  In  some  places  there  was 
little  to  hold,  and  it  was  desirable  that  those  should  be 
in  front  who  were  least  likely  to  slip.  The  general  slope  of 
the  mountain  at  this  part  was  /ess  than  forty  degrees, 
and  snow  had  accumulated  in,  and  had  filled  up  the 
interstices  of  the  rock  face,  leaving  only  occasional  frag- 
ments projecting  here  and  there.  These  were,  at  times, 
covered  with  a  thin  film  of  ice  produced  from  the  melting 


—  234  — 

and  re-freezing  of  the  snow.  It  was  a  place  over  which 
any  fair  mountaineer  might  pass  in  safety,  and  Mr.  Hud- 
son ascended  this  part,  and,  as  far  as  I  know,  the  entire 
mountain  without  having  the  slightest  assistance  rendered 
to  him  upon  any  occasion.  Mr.  Hadow,  however,  was 
not  accustomed  to  this  kind  of  work  and  required  con- 
tinual assistance.  It  is  only  fair  to  say  that  the  difficulty 
which  he  found  at  this  part  arose  simply  and  entirely 
from  want  of  experience.  This  solitary,  difficult  part  was 
of  no  great  extent.  We  bore  away  over  it  at  first  nearly 
horizontally,  for  a  distance  of  about  four  hundred  feet, 
then  ascended  directly  toward  the  summit  for  about  sixty 
feet,  and  then  doubled  back  to  the  ridge  which  descends 
toward  Zermatt.  A  long  stride  round  a  rather  awkward 
corner  brought  us  to  snow  once  more.  The  last  doubt 
vanished  !  The  Matterhorn  was  ours.  Nothing  but  two 
hundred  feet  of  easy  snow  remained  to  be  surmounted. 
The  slope  eased  off,  at  length  we  could  be  detached,  and 
Croz  and  I,  dashing  away,  ran  a  neck-and-neck  race 
which  ended  in  a  dead  heat.  At  one  forty  in  the  after- 
noon, the  world  was  at  our  feet,  and  the  Matterhorn 
was  conquered ! 

It  was  not  yet  certain  that  we  had  not  been  beaten. 
I  hastened  to  the  southern  end  scanning  the  snow  right 
and  left  eagerly.  Hurrah  again  !  it  was  untrodden.  The 
others  had  arrived  so  we  went  back  to  the  northern  end 
of  the  ridge.  Croz  now  took  the  tent-pole  and  planted 
it  in  the  highest  snow.  'Yes,'  we  said,  'there  is  the 
flag-staff,     but    where    is    the    flag?'     'Here    it   is,'  he 


—  235  — 

answered,  pulling  off  his  blouse  and  fixing  it  to  the  stick. 
It  made  a  poor  flag,  and  there  was  no  wind  to  float  it 
out,  yet  it  was  seen  all  around.  They  saw  it  at  Zermatt, 
at  the  Riflel,  in  the  Val  Tournanche. 

We  returned  to  the  southern  end  of  the  ridge  to 
build  a  cairn  and  then  paid  homage  to  the  view.  The 
day  was  one  of  those  superlatively  calm  and  clear  ones 
which  usually  precede  bad  weather.  The  atmosphere 
was  perfectly  still  and  free  from  all  clouds  and  vapors. 
Mountains  fifty — nay,  a  hundred — miles  off  looked  sharp 
and  near.  All  their  details — ridge  and  crag,  snow  and 
glacier — stood  out  with  faultless  definition.  Pleasant 
thoughts  of  happy  days  in  by-gone  years  came  up  un- 
bidden as  we  recognized  the  old  familiar  forms.  All 
were  revealed — not  one  of  the  principal  peaks  of  the 
Alps  was  hidden. 

Ten  thousand  feet  beneath  us  were  the  green  fields 
of  Zermatt,  dotted  with  chalets  from  which  blue  smoke 
rose  lazily.  Eight  thousand  feet  below,  on  the  other  side 
were  the  pastures  of  Breuil.  There  were  forests  black 
and  gloomy;  meadows  bright  and  lively;  bounding  water- 
falls and  tranquil  lakes;  fertile  lands  and  savage  wastes; 
sunny  plains  and  frigid  plateaux.  There  were  the  most 
rugged  forms  and  the  most  graceful  outlines — bold,  per- 
pendicular cliffs  and  gentle,  undulating  slopes;  rocky 
mountains  and  snowy  mountains,  sombre  and  solemn  or 
glittering  and  white,  with  walls,  turrets,  pinnacles,  pyra- 
mids, domes,  cones  and  spires.  There  was  every  com- 
bination that  the  world  can  give,  and  every  contrast  that 
the  heart  could  desire. 

We  remained  on  the  summit  for  one  hour — 
One  crowded  hour  of  glorious  life. 


—  236  — 

It  passed  away  too  quickly,  and  we  began  to  prepare  for 
the  descent. 

Hudson  and  I  again  consulted  as  to  the  best  and 
safest  arrangement  of  the  party.  We  agreed  that  it 
would  be  best  for  Croz  to  go  first  and  Hadow  second; 
Hudson,  who  was  almost  equal  to  a  guide  in  sureness  of 
foot,  wished  to  be  third;  Lord  F.  Douglas  was  placed 
next,  and  old  Peter,  the  strongest  of  the  remainder  after 
him.  I  suggested  to  Hudson  that  we  should  attach  a 
rope  to  the  rocks  on  our  arrival  at  the  difficult  bit,  and 
hold  it  as  we  descended,  as  an  additional  protection.  He 
approved  the  idea,  but  it  was  not  definitely  settled  that  it 
should  be  done.  The  party  was  being  arranged  in  the 
above  order  whilst  I  was  sketching  the  summit,  and  they 
had  finished  and  were  waiting  for  me  to  be  tied  in  line, 
when  some  one  remembered  that  our  names  had  not  been 
left  in  a  bottle.  They  requested  me  to  write  them  down 
and  moved  off  while  it  was  being  done.  A  few  minutes 
afterward  I  tied  myself  to  young  Peter,  ran  down  after 
the  others  and  caught  them  just  as  they  were  commenc- 
ing the  descent  of  the  difficult  part.  Great  care  was 
being  taken.  Only  one  man  was  moving  at  a  time; 
when  he  was  firmly  planted,  the  next  advanced,  and 
soon.  They  had  not,  however,  attached  the  additional 
rope  to  the  rocks,  and  nothing  was  said  about  it.  The 
suggestion  was  not  made  for  my  own  sake,  and  I  am  not 
sure  that  it  ever  occurred  to  me  again.  For  some  little 
distance  we  two  followed  the  others,  detached  from  them, 
and  should  have  continued  so  had  not  Lord  F.  Douglas 
asked  me,  about  three  in  the  afternoon,  to  tie  on  to  old 
Peter,  as  he  feared,  he  said,  that  Taugwalder  would  not 
be  able  to  hold  his  ground  if  a  slip  occurred. 


—  237  — 

A  few  minutes  later  a  sharp-eyed  lad  ran  into  the 
Monte  Rosa  hotel  to  Seiler,  saying  that  he  had  seen  an 
avalanche  fall  from  the  summit  of  the  Matterhorn  on  to 
the  Matterhorngletscher.  The  boy  was  reproved  for 
telling  idle  stories;  he  was  right,  nevertheless,  and  this 
was  what  he  saw: 

Michael  Croz  had  laid  aside  his  ax,  and  in  order  to 
give  Mr.  Hadow  greater  security  was  absolutely  taking 
hold  of  his  legs  and  putting  his  feet,  one  by  one,  into 
their  proper  positions.  As  far  as  I  know,  no  one  was 
actually  descending.  I  cannot  speak  with  certainty, 
because  the  two  leading  men  were  partially  hidden  lrom 
my  sight  by  an  intervening  mass  of  rocks,  but  it  is  my 
belief,  from  the  movement  of  their  shoulders,  that  Croz, 
having  done  as  I  have  said,  was  in  the  act  of  turning 
round  to  go  down  a  step  or  two  himself;  at  this  moment 
Mr.  Hadow  slipped,  fell  against  him  and  knocked  him 
over.  I  heard  one  startled  exclamation  from  Croz,  then 
saw  him  and  Mr.  Hadow  flying  downward;  in  another 
moment  Hudson  was  dragged  from  his  steps,  and  Lord 
F.  Douglas  immediately  after  him.  All  was  the  work  of 
a  moment.  Immediately  we  heard  Croz's  exclamation, 
old  Peter  and  I  planted  ourselves  as  firmly  as  the  rocks 
would  permit;  the  rope  was  taut  between  us,  and  the  jerk 
came  on  us  both  as  one  man.  We  held,  but  the  rope 
broke  midway  between  Taugwalder  and  Lord  Francis 
Douglas.  For  a  few  seconds  we  saw  our  unfortunate 
companions  sliding  downward  on  their  backs,  and 
spreading  out  their   hands,  endeavoring  to   save  them- 


-    23S    - 

selves.  They  passed  from  our  sight  uninjured,  disap- 
peared one  by  one,  and  fell  from  precipice  to  precipice 
on  to  the  Matterhorngletscher  below,  a  distance  of 
nearly  four  thousand  feet  in  height.  From  the  moment 
the  rope  broke  it  was  impossible  to  save  them.  So  per- 
ished our  comrades !  For  the  space  of  half  an  hour  we 
remained  on  the  spot  without  moving  a  single  step.  The 
two  men,  paralyzed  by  terror,  cried  like  infants,  and 
trembled  in  such  a  manner  as  to  threaten  us  with  the  fate 
of  the  others.  Old  Peter  rent  the  air  with  exclamations 
of  'Chamounix!  oh,  what  will  Chamounix  say?'  He 
meant,  who  would  believe  that  Croz  could  fall?  The 
young  man  did  nothing  but  scream  and  sob,  '  We  are 
lost!  we  are  lost!'  Fixed  between  the  two,  I  could 
move  neither  up  nor  down.  I  begged  young  Peter  to 
descend,  but  he  dared  not.  Unless  he  did  we  could  not 
advance.  Old  Peter  became  alive  to  the  danger  and 
swelled  the  cry,  '  We  are  lost !  we  are  lost !'  The 
father's  fear  was  natural — he  trembled  for  his  son;  the 
young  man's  fear  was  cowardly — he  thought  of  self  alone. 
At  last  old  Peter  summoned  up  courage,  and  changed 
his  position  to  a  rock  to  which  he  could  fix  the  rope; 
the  young  man  then  descended  and  we  all  stood  togeth- 
er. Immediately  we  did  so,  I  asked  for  the  rope  which 
had  given  way,  and  iound,  to  my  surprise— indeed  to 
my  horror — that  it  was  the  weakest  of  the  three  ropes. 
It  was  not  brought,  and  should  not  have  been  employed 
for  the  purpose  for  which  it  was  used.  I  saw  at  once 
that  a   serious  question    was  involved,   and  made  them 


—  239  — 

give  me  the  end.     It  had  broken  in  mid-air,  and  it  did 
not  appear  to  have  sustained  previous  injury. 

For  more  than  two  hours  afterward  I  thought  almost 
every  moment  that  the  next  would  be  my  last,  for  the 
Taugwalders,  utterly  unnerved,  were  not  only  incapable 
of  giving  assistance,  but  were  in  such  a  state  that  a  slip 
might  have  been  expected  from  them  at  any  moment. 
Alter  a  time  we  were  able  to  do  that  which  should  have 
been  done  at  first,  and  fixed  a  rope  to  firm  rocks,  in  addi- 
tion to  being  tied  together.  These  ropes  were  cut  from 
time  to  time  and  were  left  behind.  Even  with  their 
assurance  the  men  were  afraid  to  proceed,  and  several 
times  old  Peter  turned  with  ashy  face  and  faltering  limbs 
and  said  with  terrible  emphasis,    '  I  cannot' 

About  six  in  the  afternoon  we  arrived  at  the  snow 
upon  the  ridge  descending  toward  Zermatt  and  all  peril 
was  over.  We  frequently  looked,  but  in  vain,  for  traces 
of  our  unfortunate  companions;  we  bent  over  the  ridge 
and  cried  to  them,  but  no  sound  returned.     *     *     * 

Night  fell  and  for  an  hour  the  descent  was  continued 
in  the  darkness.  At  half-past  nine  a  resting  place  was 
found,  and  upon  a  wretched  slab  barely  large  enough  to 
hold  the  three,  we  passed  six  miserable  hours.  At  day- 
break the  descent  was  resumed,  and  from  the  Hornli 
ridge  we  ran  down  to  the  chalets  of  Buhl  and  on  to 
Zermatt.  Seiler  met  me  at  his  door  and  followed  in 
silence  to  my  room,  'What  is  the  matter?'  'The 
Taugwalders  and  I  have  returned!'  " 


—  240  — 

Speaking  of  the  relief  party,   Mr.    Whymper  con- 
tinued:  "We  started  at  two  in  the  afternoon  on  Sunday 
the  1 6th,  and   followed  the  route  we  had  taken  on  the 
previous  Thursday  as  far  as  the  Hornli.     From  thence 
we  went  down  to  the  right  of  the  ridge,  and  mounted 
through  the  serac  of  the  Matterhorngletscher.     By  half- 
past  eight  we  had  got  to  the  plateau  at  the  top  of  the 
glacier,  and  within  sight  of  the  corner  in  which  we  knew 
my  companions  must  be.    As  we  saw  one  weather-beaten 
man  after  another  raise  the  telescope,   turn  deadly  pale 
and  pass  it  on  without  a  word  to  the  next,  we  knew  that 
all  hope  was  gone.     We  approached.     They  had  fallen 
below  as  they  had  fallen  above — Croz  a  little  in  advance, 
Hadow  near  him,  and  Hudson  some  distance  behind,  but 
of  Lord  F.  Douglas  we  could  see  nothing.    We  left  them 
where  they  fell,  buried  in  snow,  at  the  base  of  the  grand" 
est  cliff  of  the  most  majestic  mountain  of  the  Alps." 

I  desire  to  supplement  the  foregoing  statement  by 
adding  that  the  three,  Croz,  Hadow  and  Hudson,  were 
subsequently  buried  in  the  little  church  yard  at  Zermatt, 
but  the  body  of  Lord  Francis  Douglas  was  never  found. 
It  still  lies  somewhere  on  the  Matterhorn. 

Such  was  the  tragic  result  of  the  first  successful 
attempt  to  scale  this  huge,  majestic  peak,  and  such  are 
some  of  the  chances  to  be  taken  in  mountaineering. 


..o<>o- 


©!]<&pter   25. 


The    Gemmi,    Interlaken,  The  Staubbach  Falls, 
The  Grindlewald  Glacier,  The  Giessbach 

Falls. 

From  Zermatt  we  returned  to  Visp,  and  proceeded 
thence  out  of  the  Rhone  valley  to  a  little  town  some 
miles  distant  from  the  baths  of  Leuk.  Several  of  the 
party  continued  on  by  rail  to  Interlaken,  the  rest  of  us 
proceeded  by  carriage  to  the  baths  of  Leuk,  which  is  one 
of  the  most  delightful  places  in  Switzerland.  By  far  the 
larger  part  of  the  drive  consists  in  winding  back  and 
forth,  from  east  to  west,  to  surmount  the  great  mountain 
on  the  north  side  of  the  valley.  After  an  hour's  drive  it 
seemed  that  we  were  almost  above  the  little  town  from 
which  we  started,  and  then,  having  attained  the  level  of 
the  pass,  we  proceeded  to  the  north  with  great  walls  of 
rocks  to  the  left  many  hundred  feet  high  and  great 
canons  between  them  and  us.  In  the  distance,  in  many 
directions,  little  Swiss  villages  seemed  to  hang  upon  the 
steep  mountain  sides  many  hundred  feet  above  our  level. 
At  one  place  on  this  drive  we  passed  a  Juvenile  Swiss 
Alpine  club. 

When  about  half  way  to  our  destination,  the  driver 
stopped  to  feed  the  horses  and  several  of  us  improved 
the  opportunity  to  feed  ourselves.    At  the  little  inn,  all  we 

16 


—  242  — 

could  procure  was  some  rye  bread  and  Swiss  cheese — a 
frugal  repast  one  would  say — but  somehow,  on  such  an 
excursion  as  this,  bread  and  cheese  seemed  to  be  a  meal 
fit  for  a  king. 

We  remained  at  the  baths  of  Leuk  all  night  and  in 
the  morning  started  to  cross  the  Gemmi  pass  on  foot. 
The  only  possible  way  to  cross  is  to  walk  or  ride  a  mule. 
Riding  across  the  path  is  discouraged  by  the  authorities 
on  account  of  the  great  danger  of  the  horses  or  mules 
stumbling.  One  can  hardly  realize  what  it  is  to  sur- 
mount the  Gemmi  pass. 

The  little  town  of  Leuk  lies  in  a   great  basin  with 
great  walls  of  mountains  all  around  it,  their  sides  bare 
and   reaching  many  thousands  of  feet  above  the  level  of 
the  town.     These  walls  are  nearly  as  perpendicular  as  the 
face  of  the  mountain  could  well  be. 

The  basin  itself  is  not  more  than  two  miles  in  diame- 
ter and  circular  in  form,  the  only  entrance  being  upon 
the  road  over  which  we  had  come  or  from  the  Gemmi 
pass  which  we  were  now  about  to  climb. 

The  trail  leads  to  the  north  and  thence  begins  a  zig- 
zao-  course  winding  around  in  many  directions,  one  side 
of  which  is  always  flanked  with  solid  rock,  the  other  side 
descending  abruptly  from  precipice  to  precipice  away  be- 
low one.  In  some  places  the  trail  was  made  by  hewing  out  a 
niche  in  the  south  side  of  the  perpendicular  rock  though 
in  such  places  we  had  a  solid  surface  beneath,  a  solid  wall 
of  rock  over  our  heads,  one  side  being  open.  Having 
climbed  up  this  trail,  for  about  three  hours,  we  were  at 
the  summit  of  the  Gemmi  pass  not  more  than  a  mile  far- 
ther north  than  our  starting  point.  At  the  top  of  the  pass 
are  several  hotels  for  the  accommodation  of  tourists,  and 


—  243  — 

here  we  found  several  parties  scattered  about  over  the 
rocks,  with  field  glasses  and  telescopes  examining  the 
distant  peaks  and  villages  beneath,  and  the  great  snow 
banks  not  far  away. 

The  great  triangular  peak  of  the  Matterhorn  was 
plainly  visible.  Around  us  in  every  direction  except  to 
the  south  were  great  piles  of  boulders,  banks  of  ice  and 
snow,  and  directly  to  the  north  a  little  lake.  Having 
rested  here  some  time  we  passed  on,  skirting  the  east 
bank  of  the  lake,  out  of  which  to  the  north  a  little  stream 
issues.  We  were  now  on  the  descent,  yet  it  was  com- 
paratively level  and  on  all  sides  were  the  traces  of  ancient 
glaciers  and  huge  piles  of  rocks  which  had  been  carried 
down  by  them.  In  many  places  the  glacial  action  on  the 
rocks  was  plainly  visible.  The  whole  presented  a  para- 
dise for  geologists.  ' '  From  here  forward  we  moved 
through  a  storm-swept  and  smileless  desolation.  All 
about  us  rose  gigantic  masses,  crags,  and  ramparts  of 
bare  and  dreary  rock,  with  not  a  vestige  or  semblance  of 
plant  or  tree  or  flower  anywhere,  or  glimpse  of  any  creat- 
ure that  had  life.  The  frost  and  the  tempests  of  un- 
numbered ages  had  battered  and  hacked  at  these  cliffs, 
with  a  deathless  energy,  destroying  them  piecemeal;  so 
all  the  region  about  their  bases  was  a  tumbled  chaos  of 
great  fragments  which  had  been  split  off  and  hurled  to 
the  ground.  Soiled  and  aged  banks  of  snow  lay  close 
about  our  path,  the  ghastly  desolation  of  the  place  was 
as  tremendously  complete  as  if  Dore  had  furnished  the 
working  plans  for  it. 


—  244  — 

But  every  now  and  then,  through  the  stern  gate- 
ways around  us,  we  caught  a  view  of  some  neighboring 
majestic  dome,  sheathed  with  glittering  ice,  and  displaying 
its  white  purity  at  an  elevation  compared  to  which  ours 
was  groveling  and  plebeian,  and  this  spectacle  always 
chained  one's  interest  and  admiration  at  once,  and  made 
him  forget  there  was  anything  ugly  in  the  world."  Along 
this  trail  we  came  across  several  mountain  kids,  they 
were  quite  tame  and  we  succeeded  in  coaxing  one  of  them 
up  to  the  party  by  feeding  it  sugar.  They  followed  us 
some  distance  and  then  disappeared  upon  the  side  of  the 
mountain. 

As  we  approached  Kandersteg  the  scenery  began  to 
lose  its  grand  character  and  to  take  on  more  of  the  beauti- 
ful. We  were  gradually  descending.  As  we  came  upon 
the  north  side  of  the  mountain,  the  great  valley,  a  thou- 
sand feet  below  us,  presented  a  beautiful  scene,  with  a 
raging,  foaming  stream  through  the  center  of  it.  To  the 
east  and  north  were  waterfalls  which  dropped  from  the 
tops  of  the  high  mountains  into  the  valley  below,  and 
descended  thousands  of  feet.  One  of  these  issued  from 
the  solid  rock  and  was  fed  probably  by  melting  snow 
above  while  out  beyond  was  a  beautiful  valley  with  towns 
and  cultivated  fields.  Now  again  it  was  necessary  to 
reach  the  level  of  the  valley  by  descending  a  zigzag  trail 
which  required  nearly  two  hours  to  traverse. 

At  Kandersteg  we  took  dinner  and  thence  we  pro- 
ceeded in  carriages  to  Spiez  on  the  lake  of  Thun,  and 
across  which  it  was  necessary  to  go  to  reach  the  famous 
summer  resort  of  Interlaken. 

No  location  for  a  town  could  be  more  lovely  than 
that  oi  Interlaken.     A  large  lake  on  each  side  of  it;  a 


—  245  — 

little  stream  connecting  them  which  passes  through  the 
town,  while  all  around  it  huge  mountains  rise  in  solemn 
grandeur  with  snow  caps  visible  in  all  directions,  while 
away  to  the  south  rises  the  Jungfrau.  Perhaps  no  better 
description  of  this  view  can  be  given  than  that  put  in  the 
mouth  of  Paul  Fleming  by  Longfellow  in  the  following 
soliloquy: 

"Interlaken!    How    peacefully  from   the  margin   of 
the  swift  rushing  Aar,  thou  liest  on  the  broad  lap  of  those 
romantic  meadows,  all  overshadowed  by  the  wide  arms  of 
gigantic  trees.     Only  the  quaint   towers  of  thine  ancient 
cloisters   rise  above  their  summits;   the   quaint   towers, 
themselves  but  a  child's  playthings  under  the  great  church 
towers  of  the  mountains.    Close  beside   thee   are  lakes 
which  the  flowing  band  of  the  river  ties  together.     Before 
thee  opens  the  magnificent  valley  of  the  Lauterbrunnen, 
where  the  cloud-hooded  monk  and  pale  virgin  stand  like 
St.  Francis  and  his  bride  of  snow;  and  around  thee  are 
fields  and  orchards  and  hamlets  green  from  which  the 
church  bells  answer  eaeh  other  at  evening.   The  evening, 
sun  was  setting  when  I  first  beheld  thee.     The  sun   of 
life  shall  set  ere  I  forget  thee. ' ' 

At  Interlaken,  when  our  party  was  there,  it  was 
estimated  that  at  least  1500  Americans  were  stopping. 
On  a  bright  morning  we  set  out  in  carriages,  to  drive 
through  a  delightful  valley,  thence  among  foot-hills,  along 
a  road  beside  a  rushing  stream,  and  lined  by  forests  of 
stately  trees,  until  we  came  to  the  Staubbach  Falls. 

Along  the  road  from  Interlaken  to  the  Staubbach 
Falls,  are  many  rare  views  of  beautiful  glens  and  grass- 
carpeted  recesses  in  the  mountains  over-hung  with  the 
verdure  of  the  spreading  tree  tops  and  clambering  vines. 


—  246  — 

The  foliage  round  about  them  is  kept  fresh  and  green  by 
the  mist  from  the  foaming,  tumbling  torrent  that  rushes 
past.  Frequently  in  some  such  sheltered  nook,  or  roman- 
tic glen  which  might  be  a  habitation  for  the  Fairies,  will  be 
seen  some  picturesqely-costumed  Swiss,  with  a  long  tin 
horn,  with  which  he  warbles,  and  jodels  and  makes  the 
mountains  echo  and  re-echo  to  the  blasts  from  this  horn, 
as  he  sees  you  approach.  By  the  side  of  the  road,  a  boy 
or  a  girl  or  a  woman  will  stand  to  receive  what  you  are  in- 
clined to  give  for  the  pleasure  of  hearing  the  "Alpine 
horn." 

The  Staubbach  Falls  are  pretty  but  not  very  interest- 
ing. The  water  falls  over  a  high  precipice,  perhaps  five 
hundred  feet  or  more,  and  breaks  into  spray  long  before 
the  bottom  is  reached.  On  a  clear  day,  a  beautiful  com- 
bination of  the  colors  of  the  rainbow  can  be  seen,  flitting 
and  mingling  and  disappearing  and  reappearing  in  the 
spray  of  the  falls.  East  of  the  falls  a  huge  mass  of  stone 
and  mountain  rises,  a  sheer  precipice,  many  hundreds  of 
feet  into  the  air.  It  is  the  little  Scheidegg  which  faces  the 
celebrated  Jungfrau  and  leads  to  the  Grindelwald  glacier. 
There  is  a  trail  over  this  mountain,  but  we  preferred  to 
ride  and  so  did  not  climb  over  it,  while  the  carriages 
went  around  by  the  road  to  meet  us  at  the  Grindledwald, 
as  we  had  intended.  Near  the  Staubbach,  is  a  place  where 
St.  Bernard  dogs  are  raised  and  kept  for  sale.  I  visited 
the  kennels  and  had  the  pleasure  to  see  some  noble 
specimens  of  this  breed  of  dogs.  They  have  an  almost 
human  expression  in  the  eye.  They  are  remarkable 
animals— exceedingly  intelligent — and  the  puppies  are  as 
pretty  and  interesting,  I  imagine,  as  any  thing  can  be 
in  the  dog-kingdom.    These  dogs  are  kept  at  the  Hos- 


—  247  — 

pice  at  the  St.  Bernard  Pass,  and  are  sent  out  by  the 
monks  to  rescue  travelers  who  become  lost.  The  dogs 
start  out  with  a  blanket  tied  around  their  body,  a  cask 
of  wine  hung  under  their  necks,  and  a  knap-sack  with 
bread  and  food.  Thus  equipped  they  roam  along  the 
trail  exploring  every  foot  of  rock  or  snow  where  an  unfor- 
tunate traveler  might  become  lost.  When  a  traveler  has 
been  overcome  with  the  cold  and  fallen  by  the  wayside  he 
often  is  covered  with  snow.  In  such  a  case  the  dogs  dig 
him  out,  take  hold  of  his  clothing  with  their  mouths,  and 
drag  him  about  untill  they  succeed  in  stimulating  the 
circulation  sufficiently  to  warm  the  benumbed  body  and 
cause  the  individual  to  regain  consciousness.  Then  the 
blanket  is  used  by  him  as  a  protection  irom  the  cold; 
the  rescued  traveler  drinks  the  wine  and  partakes  of  the 
food  and  the  dogs  lead  him  to  the  Hospice  where  the 
monks  kindly  attend  him.  Sometimes,  when  the  dogs 
can  not  rouse  the  traveler,  they  drag  him  back  to  the 
Hospice  in  his  unconscious  condition.  It  needs  no  com- 
ments to  prove  that  dogs  capable  of  such  training  are 
more  intelligent  than  the  others  of  their  kind.  A  full- 
grown  St.  Bernard,  is  not  a  handsome  animal  by  any 
means.  His  body  is  long  and  usually  lank,  his  strength 
and  endurance  are  indicated  by  the  well  developed, 
knotted  muscles,  and  his  intelligence  by  his  eyes. 

These  puppies  are  sold  at  the  Staubbach,  at  from 
eighty  to  one  hundred  francs  each. 

Wood  carving  is  extensively  carried  on  in  Switzerland, 
and  nowhere  more  industriously  than  at  Interlaken  and 
Staubbach.  Almost  everything  imaginable  is  carved  out 
of  Swiss-walnut  wood.  The  tools  used  are  very  few  and 
simple,  by  iar  the  larger  part  being  done  with  an  ordi- 


—  248  — 

nary  knife.  Deer,  bears,  dogs,  goats,  horses,  and  animals 
of  many  kinds  are  carved  with  a  faithfulness  to  nature 
that  can  not  but  astonish  one.  The  price  also,  will  as- 
tonish one,  if  the  article  is  purchased  at  Interlaken,  but 
it  is  quite  moderate  away  from  the  regular  paths  of  tourist 
travel. 

From  this  place  we  went  to  the  Grindlewald  glacier, 
climbed  the  mountain,  walked  out  upon  the  ice  ol  the 
glacier,  explored  a  beautiful  ice  cavern  at  the  far  end  of 
which  an  old  woman  gray  and  feeble,  was  playing  a 
plaintive  tune  on  some  kind  of  a  rude  instrument,  and 
returned  to  the  little  hotel  where  we  had  taken  dinner. 
Again  in  our  carriages,  we  retraced  our  way  to  Inter- 
laken through  the  beautiful  valley  winding  around 
through  the  high  mountains,  along  the  foaming  stream, 
and  late  in  the  night  drew  up  before  our  hotel.  At  this 
place  are  many  shops,  where  Swiss  watches,  carved  wood 
and  almost  every  imaginable  article  can  be  found  for  sale. 
On  the  little  railroad  that  runs  through  Interlaken,  two- 
story  passenger  cars  are  used.  The  road  is  short  and 
lies  between  the  lake  of  Brienz  and  the  lake  of  Thun. 
From  Interlaken,  all  but  five  of  our  party  went  to  Lu- 
cerne by  rail,  while  the  rest  of  us  decided  to  cross  the 
Brunig  pass.  We  left  in  the  afternoon,  changed  from 
the  second  story  of  our  car  to  the  deck  of  a  small  steam- 
er on  the  lake,  passed  the  famous  Giessbach  falls  and 
arrived  at  a  little  town  at  the  entrance  of  the  Brunig  pass. 
Our  hotel  here  was  an  old  rambling  house  partly  stone, 
partly  wooden  and  undoubtedly  dating  from  the  four- 
teenth century,  to  judge  by  its  looks.  However,  we 
fared  well  here.  The  evening  was  rainy  and  intensely 
dark.    It  was  our  intention  to  have  some  one   row   us 


—  249  — 

across  to  the  Giessbach  to  see  the  falls  illuminated  by  the 
Bengal  lights.  We  found  two  men  who  were  willing  to 
undertake  the  work  and  three  of  us  found  ourselves  in  an 
old,  covered  boat,  after  supper,  on  our  way  across  the 
lake.  I  don't  think  I  ever  saw  as  dark  a  night  before  or 
since.  We  finally  arrived  at  our  destination.  The  rain 
tell  as  if  the  heavens  were  dissolving.  In  spite  of  this, 
large  numbers  of  people  came  down  on  the  boat  from  In- 
terlaken  to  see  the  tails.  The  falls  descend  in  a  series  of 
cascades  a  thousand  feet.  There  are  some  ten  or  twelve  cas- 
cades. They  fall  over  rocks  that  over-hang  the  balance 
of  the  cliff  and  thus  there  is  considerable  space  behind  each 
cascade  and  under  the  rock  over  which  the  water  comes. 
The  lights  are  burned  here.  As  the  spectator  stands 
before  the  hotel,  he  hears  the  roar  of  falling  waters  com- 
ing from  the  intense  darkness,  but  not  an  object  of  any 
kind  is  visible.  At  a  signal  the  lights  are  simultaneously 
fired  and  instantly  the  whole  f  :e  of  the  mountain  bursts 
into  view,  each  cascade  a  different  color,  the  many  col- 
ored lights  constrasting  in  places,  blending  in  others,  and 
giving  a  weirdly  grotesque  effect  to  the  whole.  One  can 
not  realize  from  a  mere  description  what  we  witnessed- 

Imagine  yourself  standing  in  a  vast  plain,  and  that 
suddenly,  a  few  feet  in  front  of  you,  a  wall  of  stone  a 
thousand  feet  high,  with  a  cascade  falling  over  it,  the 
water  of  which  was  red  and  green,  and  white,  and  blue 
and  yellow,  and  the  rocks  beside  it  composed  of  every 
color  known  to  man,  should  take  form  and  space,  and 
you  may  have  some  idea  of  what  it  is  to  see  the  Giess- 
bach falls  illuminated  by  Bengal  lights. 


—  250  — 

We  returned  across  the  lake  and  so  dark  was  it 
that  our  oarsmen  missed  the  landing,  and  went  quite  a 
distance  beyond  our  place.  Finally  we  landed,  and  the 
next  morning  we  took  our  places  in  two  carriages  to  ride 
across  the  Brunig  pass.  Still  it  rained.  The  scenery  in 
this  pass  is  grand.  The  road  is  good  and  the  number  of 
opportunities  for  good  views  across  valleys  and  lower 
mountains  is  unusually  great.  As  we  ascended,  the  rain 
became  thinner  and  great  banks  of  fog  hid  the  valleys 
and  hills.  At  times  we  could  see  only  a  few  feet  above 
the  clouds.  Now  the  banks  of  fog  lying  over  the  valleys 
below  us  break  away,  and  through  the  rift  we  catch  dis- 
tant glimpses  of  beautiful  valleys.  Now  they  roll 
together  again  and  the  lower  world  is  shut  out  from  our 
view.  The  road  winds  around  along  the  sides  of  cliffs 
and  mountain  peaks,  slowly  ascending  until  the  summit  of 
the  pass  is  reached,  then  descending  rapidly  until  it 
reaches  the  lake  of  Lucerne.  We  took  dinner  at  a  little 
hotel  in  a  typical  Swiss  village. 

Not  long  before  a  water  spout  had  burst  in  the 
mountains  higher  up  and  it  had  swept  down  carrying 
away  a  church,  several  houses,  and  fences;  and  had 
ploughed  an  enormous  track  that  marked  its  course. 
At  the  lake  we  left  our  carriages  and  boarded  the  little 
steamboat  that  carried  us  to  Lucerne.  From  Lucerne 
we  went  by  rail  to  the  falls  ot  the  Rhine,  thence  to 
Triberg  in  the  Black  forest  in  Germany. 


©fyapter   26. 


The  Falls  of  the  Rhine,  The  Black  Forest, 
Strassburg,  Paris. 

The  falls  of  the  Rhine  are  pretty  but  not  on  the 
grand  order  of  Niagara.  The  water  falls,  probably 
twenty  feet,  and  a  large  rock,  or  small  island,  divides 
the  falls  into  two  sections  or  parts.  The  rapids  above 
the  falls  foam  and  boil  over  the  rocks;  and  below  the 
falls,  for  two  or  three  hundred  feet,  the  water  is  lashed 
into  a  fury.  A  hotel  is  built  opposite  the  cataract  and 
a  long,  cool  veranda  faces  it,  so  that  a  good  view  is  had . 
From  a  point  a  little  below  the  hotel,  a  boat  is  rowed  to 
the  foot  of  the  rock  in  the  falls.  The  water  is  exceed- 
ingly rough  and  it  requires  considerable  skill  and 
strength  on  the  part  of  the  oarsmen  to  manage  the  boat. 
Frequently  the  water  pours  over  the  side  and  the  spray 
is  apt  to  thoroughly  wet  the  passengers  in  the  boat.  Mr. 
Davis  and  the  writer  were  rowed  across  to  the  rock, 
where  we  found  a  stairway  cut  into  the  rock,  by  which 
we  ascended  to  the  top  from  which  we  obtained  a  very 
pretty  view. 

After  crossing  the  German  frontier  and  before  reach- 
ing Triberg,  we  traversed  a  wide,  level  plain,  to  the  west 
of  which  the  spurs  of  the  hills  and  mountains  reach  out 


—    252    — 

upon  the  plain  like  promontories  into  the  sea.  High 
upon  these  spurs,  above  the  level  of  the  plain,  are 
strongly  built  castles  dating  from  the  Middle  Ages.  In 
the  course  of  an  hour  we  passed  more  than  a  dozen  of 
these  castles.  It  would  be  interesting  to  know  how 
these  castles  came  to  be  built,  who  inhabited  them;  what 
relations  existed  between  their  inmates;  and  above  all, 
what  was  the  condition  of  society  and  what  the  state  of 
civilization  that  rendered  such  massive  fortifications  at  a 
time  when  fire-arms  were  unknown  and  when  men 
fought  only  with  swords  and  spears,  and  bow  and  arrow. 

What  a  picture  it  would  now  present,  could  we  see, 
in  reality,  how  these  castles  were  maintained,  how  they 
were  besieged  and  defended;  how  bands  sallied  forth 
from  them  to  overrun  the  country,  or  attack  the  castle 
of  a  foe,  how  knights  clad  in  steel  armor  led  their  bands 
to  battle;  and  all  the  other  conditions  and  circumstances 
that  attended  life  in  those  days.  It  is  true  that  Scott  and 
other  novelists  have  given  us  graphic  pictures  of  all 
these  things,  as  they  imagined  them  to  be;  but  still 
when  I  view  these  old  castles,  I  wonder  how  all  these 
things  were  in  fact.  Have  they  been  overdrawn  and 
glossed  over  with  a  halo  caused  by  lapse  of  time,  or 
have  we  fallen  far  short  of  the  reality  ?     Who  can  tell  ? 

As  the  shades  of  night  fell  we  entered  the  Black  for- 
est and  about  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening  alighted  at 
Triberg. 

The  hills  of  the  Black  forest  are  not  usually  high, 
but  are  covered  with  trees;  and  in  the  winding  and  ex- 
ceedingly crooked  ravines  between  the  hills,  contain 
excellent  McAdamized  roads;  in  valleys  and  on  hillsides 
are  towns  and  villages  in  picturesque   situations.     Our 


—   253  — 

hotel  at  Treburg  was  not  in  the  town,  but  nearly  a  mile 
west  of  it  and  reached  by  a  road  such  as  above.described. 
It  was  in  an  exceedingly  romantic  situation,  hills  all 
around  it,  a  deep  ravine  before  it  and  a  rushing  stream 
in  the  ravine.  In  the  morning  before  leaving  for  the 
railway,  with  two  others,  the  writer  walked  down  the 
road  through  the  ravine  and  in  doing  so  we  passed  a 
sawmill.  Here  we  saw  women  wheeling  the  sawdust 
away  from  the  pit  beneath  the  saw;  as  well  as  women 
taking  away  the  boards  from  the  saw  and  carrying  them 
out  of  the  mill.  I  said  we  saw  them  wheeling  the  saw- 
dust, but  to  be  more  correct,  I  should  say  carrying  it 
away;  for,  I  believe,  they  carried  it  away  in  baskets  up- 
on their  heads. 

A  delightful  ride  the  next  day  brought  us  to  Strass- 
burg,  where  a  day  was  pleasantly  devoted  to  driving  and 
visiting  the  famous  fortifications.  Here  the  German 
government  has  established  a  university  at  a  cost  of  sev- 
eral million  dollars,  for  the  purpose  of  Germanizing  the 
French  population  which  the  Franco-Prussian  war  left 
under  German  rule. 

Strassburg  is  almost,  if  not  entirely,  surrounded  by 
a  series  of  fortifications,  probably  unequaled  in  modern 
military  engineering.  The  cathedral  is  all  that  is  claimed 
for  it,  and  the  famous  clock  in  the  cathedral  is  indeed  a 
wonderful  piece  of  mechanism. 

"In  Strassburg  we  have  the  river  111  and  its  canal 

* 

joining  the  Rhine,  and  Venice  like  scenes,  narrow  quays, 
clumsy,  heavy  punts,  fanciful  chimney-stacks,  crazy, 
overhanging  balconies,  projecting  windows,  a  stirring 
human  tide,  voices  and  noises  breaking  the  silence,  an 
air   of  unconsciousness   of  beauty  and   interest,  an  old- 


—  254  — 

world  atmosphere;  many  of  the  common  houses,  not 
specially  pointed  out  to  the  tourist,  are  beautified  by  some 
artistic  ironwork  about  the  doors,  some  carved  gateway  or 
window,  some  wall-niche  with  a  saint's  statue,  or  a  broad 
oak  staircase  as  noble  in  proportions  and  beautiful  in 
detail  as  if  it  were  in  a  princely  abode. ' ' 

Strassburg  is  worth  a  more  extented  visit  than  we 
gave  it.  I  was  impressed  with  one  thing  here,  and  that 
is  that  Germany  is  not  meeting  with  any  great  amount 
of  success  in  Germanizing  the  population.  The  people 
are,  no  doubt,  of  German  descent,  and  this  territory 
undoubtedly  belongs  to  Germany,  but  it  has  so  long  been 
a  part  of  France,  that  the  people  had  become  very  loyal 
to  the  French  government  and  attached  to  France,  so  that 
when  in  1 870-1  it  again  came  under  German  dominion, 
there  was  no  rejoicing  by  these  people  over  the  change. 
The  cab-man  who  drove  us  over  the  city,  though  a  Ger- 
man, unhesitatingly  told  us  that  he  longed  for  a  return 
of  the  French  rule.  He  said  that  three-fourths  of  the 
population  of  Strassburg  think  as  he  does  about  the 
matter.  There  are  some  beautiful  drives  and  parks  in 
this  city.  The  parks  are  beautifully  laid  out  with  majes- 
tic trees,  and  shrubbery  and  profusions  of  beautiful 
flowers. 

This  territory  lies  between  that  which  is  actually 
French  and  that  which  is  actually  German,  and  it  par- 
takes of  the  character  of  both  and  wholly  of  neither. 
The  people  speak  French  and  German  with  about  equal 
facility,  and  as  a  rule  not  a  very  good  quality  of  either. 
My  driver  was,  so  he  said,  of  German  descent,  but  pro- 
fessed to  speak  French   fluently.       He  certainly    spoke 


—  255  — 

fluently,  but  I  can't  testify  concerning  the  quality  of  his 
French.  He  spoke  a  fair  German.  And  so  it  is  with  all 
the  natives  of  this  territory,  each  language  is  a  mother 
tongue  to  them. 

In  Strassburg  will  be  found  many  houses  of  thirteenth 
or  fourteenth  century  architecture;  these  have  exceedingly 
steep  roofs;  so  steep  in  fact  that  two  stories  are  often  seen 
between  the  eaves  and  the  comb  of  the  roof.  A  visit  to 
this  city  is  well  worth  the  trouble  and  expense  of  mak- 
ing it. 

After  an  exceedingly  pleasant  day  in  Strassburg,  we 
took  a  night  train  for  Paris,  France,  where  we  arrived  at 
about  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning.  Here  we  had  to 
pass  through  two  custom-houses.  At  any  rate  that  is 
about  what  it  amounts  to.  We  should  have  had  our 
luggage  inspected  at  the  frontier,  but  it  being  night,  the 
luggage  was  passed  on  to  Paris  where  it  was  subjected 
to  examination  when  we  arrived.  Following  this  it  was 
necessary  to  have  it  inspected  by  the  municipal  officers. 
One  way  of  raising  revenue  in  France  in  the  cities,  is  to 
levy  a  tax,  or  octroi,  upon  everything  brought  into  the 
city  from  elsewhere  in  the  country.  After  having  dis- 
charged these  duties  to  the  French  government  and  to 
the  municipality  of  Paris,  and  not  possessing  anything 
subject  to  taxation,  we  were  permitted  to  pass  out,  and  we 
took  cabs  for  the  Hotel  Metropolitan,  near  the  Louvre. 

Our  first  day  in  Paris,  was  spent  in  getting  settled  at 
the  hotel,  each  one  of  us  being  compelled  to  fill  out  a 
certificate  for  the   police,   which    contained    a   full    and 


-  256  - 

minute  description  of  ourselves,  color  of  hair,  eyes, 
height,  weight,  age,  married  or  single,  nationality, 
whence  we  came,  where  we  were  going,  etc.,  etc.  This 
is  required  of  all  who  stop  at  a  hotel  in  Paris.  The 
blanks  are  furnished  to  the  hotel  keeper  who  must  see 
that  every  guest  fills  out  one,  under  a  severe  penalty  for 
disobeying  the  requirement.  A  part  of  the  first  day  was 
also  spent  in  visiting  the  Louvre  Gallery,  which  is  a 
very  extensive  collection,  and  contains  some  very  rare 
and  valuable  productions  of  art.  While  sauntering  leisure- 
ly through  one  of  the  corridors  we  unexpectedly  met 
some  friends  who  had  crossed  the  Atlantic  with  us  on  the 
Ethiopia  and  whom  we  had  not  seen  since  our  arrival  at 
Glasgow. 

That  evening  most  of  our  party  attended  an  opera 
at  the  Grand  Opera  House,  the  most  magnificent  place 
of  amusement  in  the  world. 

The  visitor  at  Paris  will  at  once  notice  the  condition 
of  her  streets.  They  are  paved  with  stone  blocks  cut  and 
dressed  to  fit  closely  together,  and  have  wide  side  walks 
of  stone,  and  stone  curbing.  They  are  kept  scrupulously 
clean.  Women  are  employed  to  scrub  and  wash  them; 
water  for  cleaning  them  is  supplied  from  the  hydrants, 
and  not  a  particle  of  anything  offensive  is  left  for  any  length 
of  time  upon  them.  In  proportion  as  the  sun  goes  down 
and  night  advances,  the  noise  and  hurry  and  crowds  of 
people  increase  upon  the  streets.  Paris  sleeps  by  day 
and  wakes  by  night. 

Paris  delights  in  holidays;  Sunday  is  always  such. 
The  omnibuses  and  street  cars,  and  conveyances  leading 
out  of  the  city  to  Versailles,  or  St.  Cloud  and  elsewhere 
are  crowded  on  Sunday.     We  spent  the  whole  of  one 


— 
a: 
< 
a. 

tii 

S 
< 
o 

UJ 
DC 

I- 

o 

z 


X 

o 

3 


—  257  — 

Sunday  at  Versailles.  This  is  a  magnificent  property 
and  is  kept  in  splendid  condition.  It  was  once  the 
property  of  the  Orleans  dynasty  and  passed  from  their 
possession  with  the  downfall  of  Louis  Philippe  after  the 
death  of  his  son,  the  Duke  of  Orleans.  The  palace  is 
built  and  equipped  on  the  grand  scale  common  to  Royal 
residences.  The  grounds  are  extensive  and  contain  large 
forests  of  stately  trees  and  lakes  and  fountains  and  beau- 
tiful roadways,  and  smaller  buildings. 

St.  Cloud,  intimately  associated  with  the  history  of 
Napoleon  III.  is  another  beautiful  place,  and  from  the  gar- 
dens behind  the  ruined  palace  a  beautiful  view  of  the  city 
of  Paris  is  obtained,  and  prominent  among  the  objects  in 
the  picture  thus  presented  is  the  gilded  dome  of  the  tomb 
of  Napoleon,  the  great. 

The  visitor  will  not  omit  a  visit  to  this  tomb.  It  has 
been  described  so  frequently  and  so  well,  that  I  will  not 
attempt  it  here.  But  it  is  with  interest,  however,  that  one 
looks  upon  the  sarcophagus  that  contains  the  dust  of  the 
most  phenomenal  being  that  ever  lived.  The  feeling  of 
interest  in  the  tomb,  the  surroundings,  the  history  of  the 
man  who  lies  there,  is,  perhaps,  the  unconscious  hom- 
age that  humanity  pays  to  genius.  Of  nothing  else, 
amid  all  the  beauties  and  grandeurs  of  this  city  of  un- 
paralleled magnificence,  are  the  inhabitants  so  proud,  as 
of  this  tomb. 

A  week  was  delightfully  spent  in  Paris,  in  her  gar- 
dens, her  palaces,  her  places  of  amusment,  her  parks, 
strolling  along  her  streets,  driving  over  her  boulevards, 
roaming  in  the  Bois  de  Boulogne;  contemplating  the 
peculiar  tombs  in  the  cemetery  of  Pere  la  Chaise,  admi- 
ring her  churches,  especially  Notre  Dame,  gazing  with 

17 


—  258  — 

interest  upon  the  bell,  still  hanging  in  the  church  tower, 
near  the  Louvre,  which  rang  the  signal  lor  the  beginning 
of  the  Massacre  of  St.  Bartholomew;  riding  through  the 
Latin  quarter,  visiting  the  tapestry  factories,  and  viewing 
the  grounds  then  being  prepared  for  the  great  exposition 
of  1889. 

How  short  seems  a  week  in  Paris!  The  city  could 
not  be  thoroughly  learned  in  a  twelve-month,  much  less  a 
week.  At  the  time  we  were  there,  pictures  of  Gen.  Boul- 
anger  could  be  seen  in  all  public  or  conspicuous  places. 
He  was  the  lion  of  the  hour.  I  was  impressed  by  the  fact 
that  the  French  people  do  not  like  a  republic.  I  wonder 
if  they  like  any  form  ot  government  at  all!  They  have 
tried  them  all,  or  nearly  all,  at  a  sacrifice  of  blood  and  life 
without  parallel  in  history,  and  one  would  suppose,  that 
after  securing  the  freedom  of  a  Republic,  they  would  be 
content  with  it.  But  they  are  far  from  content.  Ask  the 
porter,  maid,  or  anybody  about  your  hotel  how  they  like 
the  Republic  and  they  are  sure  to  reply  with  the  inimitable 
French  shrug,  that  they  sigh  for  the  return  of  the  empire. 

At  the  end  of  the  week,  with  many  regrets,  we 
leave  the  French  capital;  a  few  hours  ride  through  a  level 
country,  following  for  a  considerable  distance  the  course 
of  the  Seine,  we  arrive  at  Dieppe.  Here  we  board  a 
channel  steamer  which  is  manned  by  English  officers  and 
crew,  and  steam  out  of  the  harbor  to  cross  the  channel. 
A  large  party  which  we  afterward  learn  to  be  an  English 
Cricket  Club  which  had  been  playing  a  French  club  and 
was  returning  home  victorious,  was  on  board.  Several  of 
them  stood  near  me,  and  as  we  moved  slowly  along  the 


—  259  — 

quay,  one  of  them  cried  loudly  to  the  others  "'Ere's  'is 
ludship!"  and  immediately  they  all  joined  in  three  cheers 
for '"is  ludship,"  who  thereupon  removed  his  hat  thus 
revealing  to  the  rest  of  us,  who  were  somewhat  ignorant 
on  the  subject  of  "ludships,"  which  one  among  those  on 
the  quay  was  the  gentleman  of  noble  birth.  He  proved 
to  be  the  last  one  I  should  have  suspected  of  being  an 
English  Earl.  He  was  heavy  in  physique,  red  in  com- 
plexion, coarse  in  feature,  and  dressed  much  as  a  well-to- 
do  American  farmer  might  be  dressed  while  around  his 
home  but  not  engaged  in  work.  He  wore  a  broad - 
brimmed  slouch  hat  and  made  no  attempt  at  display  in 
dress.  His  rank  was  that  of  an  Earl  and  one  of  the  mem- 
bers of  the  cricket  club  told  me  his  full  title,  but  I  have  for- 
gotten it;  and  my  informant  also  volunteered  the  informa- 
tion that  the  Earl  was  the  patron  of  their  club  and  a 
great  admirer  of  cricket,  and  that  he  had  defrayed  the 
expense  of  their  trip  to  France. 


©rj&pter  27. 


London,  Oxford,  Stratford-on-Avon,  The 
Voyage  Home. 

We  had  a  pleasant  voyage  across  the  channel,  not 
encountering  the  least  bit  of  the  rough  weather  and  fog 
for  which  the  channel  is  notorious,  and  arrived  at  New 
Haven  about  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon.  Here  we 
disembarked,  and,  ior  the  first  time  in  three  months, 
heard  our  native  language  in  general  use.  A  short  jour- 
ney brought  us  to  London,  for  the  second  time.  We 
tqok  rooms  on  Great  Russell  Street,  and  our  meals  at  the 
Horse  Shoe  Tavern,  Tottenham  Court  Road,  near  Ox- 
ford Street.  We  stayed  here  a  week  also,  during  which 
time  we  visited  the  Kew  Gardens,  the  Tower,  West  Min- 
ster Abbey,  The  Bank  of  England,  St.  Paul's,  and 
Windsor.  I  was  very  desirous  of  visiting  the  House  of 
Commons.  I  went  to  the  Consul-General's  office,  but 
could  not  get  a  pass  through  that  individual;  I  tried 
the  American  Minister,  but  he  is  allowed  but  two  passes 
per  day  and  these  were  promised  for  more  than  thirty  days 
ahead.  I  went  to  the  American  Exchange  and  invoked 
aid  there.  They  tried  but  failed.  In  sheer  desperation! 
my  friend  Davis  and  I  walked  down  to  the  Parliament 
buildings  and  found  it  surrounded  by  a  cordon  of  police. 
We  could  go  so  far,  but  no  farther.     At  the  entrance,  a 


—    26l    — 

policeman  guarded  the  way.  We  got  into  conversation 
with  him;  we  told  him  we  were  Americans  and  were  very 
anxious  to  get  into  the  House  of  Commons.  He  was 
very  friendly  and  talked  some  time  about  America,  and 
finally  told  us  we  could  get  into  the  rotunda  if  we  would 
follow  the  hall  or  corridor  in  front  of  us;  that  at  a  short 
flight  of  steps  we  would  find  another  policeman,  he  would 
ask  us  whom  we  wanted  to  see,  and  if  we  gave  him  the 
name  of  a  member,  this  guard  would  allow  us  to  pass  on 
to  the  rotunda;  that  after  arriving  there  we  should  send 
in  our  cards  to  the  member  we  named.  This,  of  course, 
was  all  very  well,  and  would  have  been  very  important 
knowledge  for  us  to  possess  if  we  had  only  known  some 
member.  But  we  did  not,  and  told  him  so.  "  O,  call  for 
any  of  the  Irish  members,"  he  said.  At  our  request  he 
named  one,  and  slipping  a  two-shilling  piece  into  his 
hand  we  started  in.  At  the  steps  we  met  the  other 
policeman  just  as  we  had  been  told.  He  inquired  whom 
we  wanted  to  see,  we  mentioned  the  name  which  had 
been  given  us  and  were  permitted  to  pass  on  and  arrived 
at  the  rotunda  highly  elated.  We  got  an  attendant  to 
take  in  our  cards,  but  soon  he  returned  with  the  informa- 
tion that  the  member  was  not  in.  So  after  all  our  schem- 
ing, our  efforts  were  to  meet  with  failure.  Turning  around, 
I  saw  another  policeman  and  walking  over  to  him  1  asked 
him  if  he  knew  a  member  who  would  be  apt  to  do  us  the 
courtesy  to  pass  us  into  the  House.  "Yes,"  he  replied, 
"any  of  the  Irish  members  will  do  so  for  you."  I  thanked 
him  and  asked  him  to  give  me  the  name  of  one .  ' '  There, ' ' 
he  said,  "is  one"  and  pointed  to  a  group  of  three  gentle- 
men a  little  distance  from  us.  I  walked  up  and  begging 
their    pardon,  introduced  myself  and  stated  my    desire. 


262    

The  member  said  he  would  be  glad  to  pass  me  in  if  it  were 
possible;  but  he  could  not  do  so  that  night  and  called  my 
attention  to  what  I  had  not  before  observed,  that  notices 
were  put  up  stating  that  every  gallery  was  crowded  and 
more  could  not  be  admitted.  "But,"  said  he,  "if  you 
will  come  to-morrow  I  will  get  a  pass  for  you."  I 
thanked  him  tor  his  courtesy  and  asked  if  my  wite  and 
Mr.  Davis  could  be  passed  into  the  House  at  the  same 
time.  He  answered  in  the  affirmative,  and  I  bade  him 
good  night  and  turned  away.  I  was  disappointed — bitter- 
ly so.  For  on  that  night  Mr.  Gladstone  was  to  speak  on 
the  proclamation  of  the  National  League.  It  was  my 
only  opportunity,  perhaps,  ever  to  hear  the  celebrated 
orator,  and  I  had  missed  it. 

But  on  the  following  evening  we  went  again  to  the 
House  and,  upon  sending  in  our  cards,  our  new  ac- 
quaintance came  out  and  greeted  me  pleasantly,  and  I 
introduced  him  to  my  wife  and  Mr.  Davis.  He  then 
went  in  and  after  some  minutes  returned  with  the  permit, 
and  we  followed  our  friend  who  took  us  over  the  build- 
ing, through  the  library,  the  dining  rooms,  the  House  of 
Lords,  and  finally  showed  my  wife  to  the  ladies  gallery, 
and  took  Mr.  Davis  and  myself  onto  the  floor  of  the 
House.  But  few  of  the  prominent  members  were  present. 
Mr.  Gladstone  was  absent.  Some  bill  concerning  farm- 
ing interests  was  under  discussion,  and  not  long  after 
our  entrance,  a  division  was  taken  on  some  amendment 
which  had  been  offered  We  were  requested  to  retire 
until  the  vote  was  taken,  after  which  we  were  again 
admitted.  No  visitor  or  person  other  than  a  member  is 
allowed  to  be  present  when  a  division  is  taken.  Neither 
is  the  vote  taken  by  a  roll  call  as  here,  but  the  members 


—  263  — 

all  arise  and  pass  through  two  aisles;  those  voting  in  the 
affirmative  going  through  one,  and  those  voting  in  the 
negative  going  through  the  other.  Why  no  person  is  per- 
mitted to  be  present  when  this  is  done  I  am  unable  to  say. 
No  doubt  it  is  a  custom  of  which  both  the  reason  and  ori- 
gin have  been  lost,  but  the  observance  of  which  remains. 
A  volume  might  be  written  of  London.  Trafalgar  square, 
Somerset  House,  The  Art  Gallery,  the  Museum,  are  all 
places  of  interest.  I  shall  not  try  to  describe  London. 
Who  could  do  so  ?  A  city  of  five  millions  of  people!  The 
metropolis  of  the  world!  Every  one  is  familiar  already 
with  all  that  might  be  said  of  this  great  city. 

From  London  we  went  to  Oxford  to  visit  the  univer- 
sity which,  of  course,  is  similar  to  Cambridge,  which  has 
already  been  described.  Oxford  is  larger  than  Cam- 
bridge, having  twenty-one  colleges. 

Stratford-on-Avon,  the  birth  place  of  Shakespeare, 
the  Mecca  of  political  pilgrimages,  hallowed  by  the 
associations  of  him  who  felt  the  pulse  of  human  feelings 
and  answered  in  sweet  strains  to  the  yearning  of  the 
human  heart  as  never  mortal  man  has  done  before  or 
since  his  age,  lies  nestled  beside  the  little  river  Avon,  in 
that  part  of  "merrie  England"  which  is  truly  rural. 
Shorn  of  all  associations  with  the  memory  of  the  im- 
mortal bard,  if  that  were  possible,  it  would  still  be  a 
delightful  and  interesting  bit  of  rural  scenery  in  which  one 
feels  a  sort  of  rest  and  tranquillity  and  passive  satisfaction 
which  nearly  every  one  has,  at  times,  realized  in  the 
country,  but  which  human  pen  has  never  yet  described. 

The  green  fields,  the  trim  cottages,  the  rose-em- 
bowered porches,  the  neat  hedges,  the  quiet  unbroken 
surface  of  the  Avon,  the  stately   trees  whose  branches 


—  264  — 

play  in  the  tranquil  water,  the  ivy-covered  walls,  the 
rows  of  limes,  the  delightful  atmosphere,  present  a  sweet 
scene  of  rural  life  equal  to  Goldsmith's  deserted  village. 

Viewing  these  scenes,  one  can  hardly  realize  that  in 
such  a  place,  among  such  rural  simplicity,  there  was 
developed  a  genius  of  such  extraordinary  character,  such 
immortal  conceptions,  such  breadth  of  thought,  such 
sweet  and  tender  pathos,  such  wonderful  felicity  and 
power  of  expression  as  the  author  of  Hamlet. 

Here  is  the  house  in  which  he  learned  the  trade  of 
wool-combing,  his  father's  trade.  There  is  the  grammar 
school  which  he  attended,  and  just  yonder  the  house 
in  which  he  lived  after  his  return  to  Stratford.  A  few 
minutes  drive  along  a  pleasant  country  road  lined  by  splen- 
did elms,  and  bounded  by  neat  hedges,  brings  you  to  the 
pretty,  thatched,  and  rose-embowered  cottage  in  which  the 
poet  wooed  and  won  the  love  of  the  proud  Ann  Hatha- 
way. There  is  a  hedge  in  front  of  the  house,  which  is 
somewhat  neglected;  a  little  garden  between  the  fence 
and  house;  numerous  rose  bushes,  and  trailing  vines; 
over  across  the  road  in  front  of  the  house,  some  ancient 
trees  of  great  size.  The  cottage  is  small  and  within  the 
jambs  of  the  fire-place  are  seats  for  two,  one  on  either 
side,  where  no  doubt  on  many  a  rainy  evening,  such  as 
are  well  known  to  Englishmen,  Shakespeare  sat  looking 
across  at  the  pretty  face  of  the  girl  he  loved  illuminated 
by  the  ruddy  glow  from  the  coals  of  the  fire.  A  register 
of  visitors  is  kept  in  the  cottage,  on  the  pages  of  which  I 
saw  the  autographs  of  Dr.  Holmes,  Mr.  Longfellow  and 
many  other  prominent  Americans. 

We  stopped  at  the  Red  Horse  Inn,  while  in  Stratford 
— the  Inn  made  famous  by  our  own  Washington  Irving. 


—  265  — 

The  little  parlor  calls  forcibly  to  mind  the  description  oi 
Irving's  visit  to  Stratford:  "To  a  homeless  man,  who  has 
no  spot  in  this  wide  world  which  he  can  truly  call  his 
own,  there  is  a  momentary  feeling  of  something  like 
independence  and  territorial  consequence,  when,  after  a 
weary  day's  travel,  he  kicks  off  his  boots,  thrusts  his  feet 
into  slippers,  and  stretches  himself  before  an  inn  fire. 
Let  the  world  without  go  as  it  may;  let  kingdoms  rise  or 
fall,  so  long  as  he  has  the  wherewith  to  pay  his  bill,  he  is, 
for  the  time  being,  the  very  monarch  of  all  he  surveys. 
The  arm-chair  is  his  throne,  the  poker  his  scepter,  and 
the  little  parlor,  of  some  twelve  feet  square,  his  undis- 
puted empire.  'Shall  I  not  take  mine  ease  in  mine  inn? ' 
thought  I,  as  I  gave  the  fire  a  stir,  lolled  back  in  my 
elbow-chair,  and  cast  a  complacent  look  about  the  little 
parlor  of  the  Red  Horse,  at  Stratford-on-Avon. 

The  words  of  sweet  Shakespeare  were  just  passing 
through  my  mind  as  the  clock  struck  midnight  from  the 
tower  of  the  church  in  which  he  lies  buried.  There  was  a 
gentle  tap  at  the  door,  and  a  pretty  chambermaid,  putting 
in  her  smiling  face,  inquired,  with  a  hesitating  air, 
whether  I  had  rung.  I  understood  it  as  a  modest  hint 
that  it  was  time  to  retire.  My  dream  of  absolute  dominion 
was  at  an  end;  so  abdicating  my  throne,  like  a  prudent 
potentate,  to  avoid  being  deposed,  and  putting  the  Strat- 
ford Guide-Book  under  my  arm,  as  a  pillow-companion, 
I  went  to  bed,  and  dreamt  all  night  of  Shakespeare,  the 
Jubilee  and  David  Garrick." 

It  would  be  interesting  to  know,  if  at  the  time  Irving 
penned  the  foregoing  lines,  he  had  any  thought  that  they 
would  make  the  Red  Horse  Inn  as  famous  as  Shakespeare 
had  already  made  the  town  ?     The  little  parlor  in  the  inn 


—  266  — 

which  Irving"  occupied  is  now  a  hallowed  place  into  which 
the  common  herd  can  only  go  to  see  the  place  where  the 
"  great  American  gentleman  "  stopped.  The  same  fire- 
place before  which  Irving  sat,  "his  feet  thrust  into  his 
slippers,"  is  kept  cleanly  polished  and  is  pointed  out  with 
pride  by  the  landlord.  The  very  arm-chair,  "his  throne," 
is  safely  placed  in  a  large  box  with  a  glass  door,  so  that 
it  may  be  seen  but  can  not  be  touched  by  the  sacrilegious 
hands  of  mediocrity.  The  poker,  "his  scepter,"  is  also 
displayed.  Mementoes  of  Irving  are  hung  upon  the  walls. 
A  poem,  also  a  little  description  of  Stratford-on-Avon,  are 
framed  and  hung  upon  the  wall,  as  is  also  a  very  fine 
portrait  of  him.  One  wonders,  while  at  the  inn,  which  is 
of  more  renown,  our  Irv'ng,  or  their  Shakespeare. 

The  church  in  which  Shakespeare  is  buried,  is  a 
"large  and  venerable  pile,  mouldering  with  age,  but 
richly  ornamented."  He  lies  in  the  chancel  beneath  the 
stone  floor,  with  a  bust  of  the  poet  on  the  wall  immediately 
over  the  grave.  This  bust  is  said  to  resemble  the  poet. 
Upon  the  stone  over  the  grave,  is  inscribed  the  following 
words,  written  by  Shakespeare  himself,  for  the  purpose: 

"Good  friend,  for  Jesus'  sake,  forbeare 

To  dig  the  dust  inclosed  here. 

Blessed  be  he  that  spares  these  stones, 

And  curst  be  he  that  moves  my  bones." 

Had  it  not  been  for  this  inscription,  his  remains 
would,  long  since,  have  been  removed  to  Westminster 
Abbey.  But  the  inscription  has  prevented  the  removal. 
And  well  it  is,  for  there  is  no  more  appropriate  place  in 
England,  for  his  resting  place  than  this  church  in  his 
native  village.  The  church  and  church-yard  occupy  a 
point  of  land  around  which  the  river  curves  in  such  a  way 


—  267  — 

as  to  make  it  almost  a  peninsula.  Large  trees  grow  in 
the  church-yard  and  along  the  bank  of  the  river,  ivy- 
clambers  over  the  church  walls,  and  all  around  and  within 
the  church  there  is  a  solemn  stillness  which  is  wonderfully- 
impressive. 

Every  one  has  read  of  the  many  pranks  and  wild  and 
thoughtless  conduct  which  are  related  of  Shakespeare  in 
his  youth .  If  one  is  to  believe  all  that  he  hears  in  this 
line,  he  must  make  up  his  mind  that  the  poet  was  an 
almost  incorrigible  lad.  Not  far  away  is  Bedford  where 
he  went  to  the  beer  or  ale-drinking  contest  and  became 
ingloriously  drunk;  also  near  by  is  the  estate  where  he 
was  caught  poaching  deer,  which  latter  prank  drove  him 
from  Stratford  and  probably  rescued  to  the  world  an  im- 
mortal poet  from  an  indifferent  wool-comber.  Washing- 
ton Irving  says  of  him:  "Shakespeare,  when  young,  had 
doubtless  all  the  wildness  and  irregularity  of  an  ardent, 
undisciplined  and  undirected  genius.  The  Poetic  tem- 
perament has  naturally  something  in  it  of  the  vagabond. 
When  left  to  itself,  it  runs  loosely  and  wildly,  and  delights 
in  everything  eccentric  and  licentious.  It  is  often  a  turn- 
up of  a  die,  in  the  gambling  freaks  of  fate,  whether  a 
natural  genius  shall  turn  out  a  great  rogue  or  a  great 
poet;  and  had  not  Shakespeare's  mind  fortunately  taken 
a  literary  bias,  he  might  have  as  daringly  transcended  all 
civil,  as  he  has  all  dramatic  laws." 

"How  it  would  have  cheered  the  spirit  of  the  youth- 
ful bard,  when  wandering  forth  in  disgrace  upon  a  doubt- 
ful world,  he  cast  back  a  heavy  look  upon  his  paternal 
home,  could  he  have  foreseen  that,  before  many  years,  he 
should  return  to  it  covered  with  renown;  that  his  name 
should  become  the  boast  and  glory  of  his  native  place; 


—  268  — 

that  his  ashes  should  be  religiously  guarded  as  its  most 
precious  treasure;  and  that  its  lessening  spire,  on  which 
his  eyes  were  fixed  in  tearful  contemplation,  should  one 
day  become  the  beacon,  towering  amidst  the  gentle  land- 
scape, to  guide  the  literary  pilgrim  of  every  nation  to 
his  tomb?" 

I  shall  be  always  thankful  that  my  native  language 
is  the  English,  because,  therefore,  I  can  read  Shakespeare 
and  Irving  in  their  native  tongue,  unmarred  by  any  de- 
fect of  translation.  Shakespeare  is  pre-eminently  the  poet 
of  the  world,  without  a  peer;  and  Irving  the  master  of  a 
style  of  English,  which  in  its  simplicity,  its  purity  and 
transcendent  beauty  is  without  parallel  in  literature. 
Without  such  intention  on  the  part  of  either,  Stratford- 
on-Avon  has  become  hallowed  by  the  glory  of  each.  As 
we  leave  the  village,  where  we  have  had  more  pleasure 
than  elsewhere  in  Europe,  I  look  back  upon  the  fields, 
the  town,  the  hedges,  the  noble  forests  and  the  water  of 
the  little  river  Avon,  and  the  lines  of  Garrick  seem  most 
appropriate. 

"Thou  soft  flowing  Avon,  by  thy  silver  stream 

Of  things  more  than  mortal,  sweet  Shakespeare  would  dream; 

The  fairies  by  moonlight  dance  round  his  green  bed, 

For  hallowed  the  turf  is  which  pillowed  his  head." 

Leaving  Stratford-on-Avon,  we  arrived  at  Liverpool 
towards  evening  and  remained  there  until  the  afternoon 
of  the  next  day  when  we  embarked  on  the  City  of  Rome, 
en  route  home.  We  steamed  down  the  Mersey  with 
cloudy  skies  and  forboding  weather,  and  on  the  following 
day  about  noon  entered  Queenstown  harbor.  Here  light- 
ers met  us,  as  the  City  of  Rome  can  not  go  up  to  the 
docks,  on  account  of  her  size.     They  brought  mail  and 


<: 
ci 

30 
iTJ 
O 

o 

r 


■  ■•  i 


—  269  — 

passengers,  and  a  large  number  of  emigrants.  Many  Irish 
women  came  on  board  while  we  lay  here,  with  lace,  linen, 
fancy  articles,  and  trinkets  made  of  Irish  bog-oak.  They 
displayed  and  sold  their  wares;  were  shrewd  and  quick 
at  making  bargains,  talking  in  a  rich  brogue,  and  were  ex- 
tremely happy  at  repartee.  Many  small  boats  also  came 
out  being  rowed  by  two  oarsmen,  and  these  generally 
brought  from  one  to  three  emigrants,  with  their  little 
parcels,  their  entire  worldly  possessions;  on  their  way  to 
try  their  fortunes  in  that  free  land  across  the  sea — to  them, 
a  land  of  vague  but  roseate  promises  of  wealth  and  free- 
dom and  boundless  resources.  How  sad,  undoubtedly, 
was  the  rude  awakening  of  some  of  these  poor  souls  upon 
their  arrival  here?  To  many  people  in  Europe,  America 
is  a  land  where  gold  coins  grow  on  bushes,  and  personal 
restraint  is  an  unheard-of  thing. 

The  City  of  Rome  was  built  at  Barrow  and  launched 
on  the  14th  of  June,  1881.  She  is  586  feet  long  by  52 
feet  3  inches  broad,  and  37  feet  deep,  the  prome- 
nade deck  is  400  feet  long  and  20  feet  wide  on  each  side 
of  the  ship.  The  dining  saloon  is  72  feet  long  by  52  feet 
wide,  and  accommodates  266  passengers  at  a  sitting. 
The  engines  indicate  12,000  horse  power,  and  turn  the 
screjw  at  an  average  speed  of  sixty  revolutions  per  minute. 
The  number  of  furnaces  is  63,  and  the  average  consump- 
tion of  coal  is  300  tons  in  the  24  hours.  The  total  num- 
ber of  people  that  she  brought  across  on  this  voyage, 
including  the  crew,  was  151 1. 

The  first  four  days  of  the  voyage  was  remarkably 
rough.  We  struck  a  terrific  storm  about  three  hours  out 
of  Queenstown,  and  for  four  days  the  waves  rolled 
"mountain  high,"  the  sea  was  lashed  into  a  fury  such  as  is 


—  270  — 

hardly  conceivable,  great  waves  ran  entirely  over  the  ship, 
and  caused  her  to  roll  and  pitch  like  a  plaything  of  the  ele- 
ments. Now  she  would  labor  up  some  fearful  wave,  the 
prow  would  drop  into  the  trough,  and  her  nose  would 
run  into  the  succeeding  wave,  causing  her  stern  to  rise 
high  out  of  the  water,  upon  which  the  screw  would 
revolve  with  a  frightful  velocity  that  would  shake  the 
ship  from  stem  to  stern.  At  times  the  rain  fell  in  torrents, 
then  it  ceased  and  the  wind  came  howling  over  and 
around  our  good  ship  like  a  pack  of  unloosed  demons. 
Toward  the  close  of  the  fourth  day,  the  storm  abated 
and  on  the  fifth  day  we  saw  the  sun  for  the  first  time  since 
starting.  We  had  divine  service  on  Sunday;  and  a  concert 
on  Tuesday  evening  of  which  the  following  is  the  account 
as  given  by  the  "City  of  Rome"  Express,  a  paper 
printed  and  published  on  board  the  steamer  for  the 
benefit  of  the  passengers: 

"A  grand  concert  was  held  last  night  in  the  drawing- 
room  in  aid  of  the  Stanley  Hospital,  Liverpool.  There 
was  a  crowded  attendance,  and  hundreds  were  unable  to 
gain  admission.  The  Rev.  Dr.  VanDeWater  was  the 
chairman,  and  in  the  course  of  the  evening  made  a  pow- 
erful appeal  in  support  of  the  deserving  charity  to  which 
the  audience  were  asked  to  contribute. 

The  concert  opened  with  a  piano  solo,  played  with 
much  taste  by  Miss  Agnes  Bryan.  Mrs.  Coulson  followed 
with  a  pleasing  rendition  of  a  song  from  '  Ruy  Bias. '  A 
most  enjoyable  feature  was  the  quartette'  'Come  Where 
My  Love  Lies  Dreaming,'  which  was  splendidly  given 
by  Mrs.  Raleigh,  Messrs.  Johnson,  Clemson,  and  Blakely, 
the  lady  having  kindly  undertaken  the  soprano  part  at  a 
moment's  notice.    The  Misses  Walsh  were  most  success- 


—  271  — 

ful  in  their  piano  duett  Mr.  T.  A.  Joyce,  who  has  a 
finely-trained  baritone,  did  full  justice  to  his  song,  'Ye 
Gallants  of  England.'  Messrs.  Blakely  and  Johnson  were 
next  heard  to  much  advantage  in  the  popular  duett, 
'Larboard  Watch.'  Mrs.  Frank  Leslie,  whose  appearance 
was  the  signal  for  an  ovation,  then  gave  a  reading — the 
accomplished  lady  being  loudly  applauded  at  its  close. 

Part  II.  opened  with  a  brilliant  piano  solo  by  Miss 
Riley  who  played  an  impromptu  by  Schubert.  Mr.  Clem- 
son  then  sang  'Simon  the  Cellarer'  and  Miss  Kunkle,  who 
undoubtedly  carried  off  the  honors  of  the  evening,  fol- 
lowed with  a  reading,  '  Rubenstein  and  the  Rustic'  It 
was  a  rare  elecutionary  effort,  and  the  audience  showed 
their  appreciation  of  the  versatility  of  the  young  lady  by 
their  unstinted  applause.  After  Mr.  Conway  Carpenter 
had  convulsed  the  house  with  his  comic  song,  'Children's 
Voices,'  Miss  Mamie  J.  Brown,  a  talented  little  lady  ol 
some  seven  summers  charmed  every  one  with  her  clever 
recitation,  'Sheridan's  Ride.'  Miss  Agnes  Clark,  who 
possesses  a  beautifully  cultivated  mezzo-soprano,  was  en- 
thusiastically encored  for  her  sympathetic  singing  of 
'Janet's  Choice.'  Her  finished  vocalization  was  quite  a 
feature  of  the  entertainment.  Mr.  Joyce  next  gave  a 
spirited  rendering  of  'The  Stirrup  Cup,'  and  the  concert 
concluded  with  a  highly  dramatic  reading  by  Mr.  John- 
son of  LeFanu's  poem,  'Shamus  O'Brien.'  A  most 
enjoyable  evening  was  brought  to  a  close,  with  a  cordial 
vote  of  thanks  to  the  chairman,  followed  by  the  National 
Anthems.  We  cannot  conclude  this  notice  without  a 
special  word  of  praise  to  Mrs.  Cecil  Raleigh,  who  grace- 
fully tulfilled  the  onerous  position  of  accompanyist.  The 
collection  which  was  taken  up  by  Miss  Pitney  and  Miss 


—    272    — 

Agnes  Clarke,  realized  the  handsome  sum  of  ^16  os.  6d." 
It  was  especially  gratifying  to  us  that  Miss  Kunkle,  who 
carried  off  the  honors  of  the  evening,  was  a  member  of 
our  party. 


©l]&pter   28. 

The  Arrival  Home,  America,  A  Retrospect. 

During  the  night  of  the  seventh  day  we  arrived  at 
the  bar  which  the  "  Roine"  can  pass  only  at  high  tide 
and  consequently  we  lay  there  until  morning,  when 
with  the  breaking  of  the  dawn  we  again  beheld  the 
shores  of  America.  No  one  can  realize  what  pleasure 
the  sight  of  America  brought  to  us,  unless  he  has  himself 
been  in  the  same  position.  It  was  the  sight  of  home — of 
native  country — and  above  all,  the  land  that  represents 
the  best  and  highest  achievements  in  everything  that  is 
good,  noble  and  great.  It  is  no  wonder  that  an  American 
is  so  intensely  loyal  to  his  country  and  so  proud  of  her 
position  among  the  nations  of  the  earth. 

In  all  that  is  worth  striving  for  in  life,  America  takes 
the  lead.  In  the  enjoyments  of  home  life,  in  kind  and 
loving  sympathy  between  men,  in  conveniences,  in  inven- 
tion, in  progress,  in  religion,  in  humanity,  in  the  tolerance 
of  the  rights  of  others,  we  stand  superior  to  the  world.  In 
the  old  world,  society  is  organized  on  the  fundamental  prin- 
ciple that  one  class  must  own  another  collectively  through 
the  government.  There  government  proceeds  upon  the 
theory  that  none  but  the  rich  and  aristocratic  have  any 
interest  in  the  stability  of  the  government  and  conse- 
quently  none   but  that   class  can   participate  in  it.     In 

13 


—  274  — 

European  society  there  are  horizontal  strata  in  which  each 
class  is  found,  and  out  of  which  or  above  which  the  indi- 
vidual can  by  no  possibility  rise.  A  prominent  writer  in 
England  says  that  during  twenty-five  years  of  close 
observation  in  that  country  he  has  never  come  across  an 
instance  of  a  farm-laborer  rising  above  his  class.  What  a 
contrast  to  the  society  of  a  land  where  a  farmer,  a  com- 
mon laborer  and  an  obscure  leather  dealer,  have  come 
from  their  respective  places  to  preside  over  the  destiny  of 
a  great  nation.  Our  theory  of  government  and  the 
organization  of  our  society,  recognize  every  man  as 
having  an  equal  opportunity  with  every  other  man  in  the 
participation  of  government,  and  in  the  improvement  of 
the  boundless  opportunities  for  advancement  which  are 
here  afforded.  Our  society  has  no  horizontal  strata 
which  confine  any  class  to  its  narrow  limits.  "Our 
society  rather  resembles  the  waves  of  the  ocean  whose 
every  drop  may  move  freely  among  its  fellows,  and  may 
rise  toward  the  light,  until  it  flashes  on  the  crest  of  the 
highest  wave." 

It  is  true,  in  Europe,  that  they  can  boast  of  centu- 
ries of  civilization,  and  history;  but  it  is  also  true  that  they 
are  compelled  to  go  back  into  ages  past  for  all  their 
glory.  They  are  proud  of  the  past;  we  of  the  present. 
I  have  seen  many  countries,  but  if  I  were  a  native  of  none, 
and  without  prejudice  for  or  against  any,  I  sincerely 
believe  that  I  should  have  more  interest  in  the  United 
States  of  America  than  in  any  other.  It  is  true  that  we 
have  not  the  history  of  Italy  behind  us;  we  have  not  the 
development  of  art  that  Germany,  France  or  England 
presents;  we  have  not  the  perfection  of  architecture  of  any 
European  country.     But  we  have   made  greater  strides 


—  275  — 

toward  solving  the  problem  of  human  life,  in  one  century 
than  Europe  has  in  eighteen.  We  have  the  art  of  recog- 
nizing men  and  women  as  human  beings  and  ol  granting 
to  all  men,  in  all  conditions,  the  fullest  liberty;  we  have 
not  marble  palaces  for  the  rich  and  noisome  cellars  for  the 
poor.  And  above  all  we  have  homes.  Nowhere  else  in 
all  the  world,  is  the  true  and  full  significance  of  the  word 
home  understood  as  it  is  in  America. 

Let  a  citizen  of  this  country  travel  the  world  over  and 
he  will  return  with  stronger  love  for  America  and  greater 
pride  that  he  is  an  American. 

I  have  seen  many  of  the  objects  celebrated  in  history 
and  in  song.  I  have  stood  before  works  of  art  that  have 
lived  through  ages  past.  I  have  wandered  through  the 
valleys  of  Switzerland  and  have  stood  on  the  crest  of  her 
mighty  Alps  and  looked  upon  the  plains  of  Italy  with  all 
the  emotions  that  her  history  aroused.  I  have  descended 
and  walked  in  the  streets  of  the  "eternal  city,"  treading 
the  same  stones  that  Caesar  hath  trod;  and  looking  upon 
the  "  walls  that  echoed  to  the  tread  of  either  Brutus,"  I  have 
groped  my  way  through  the  labyrinthine  corridors  of  the 
Catacombs  and  looked  upon  the  resting  place  of  the  early 
martyrs  of  the  church.  I  have  wandered  through  Floren- 
tine palaces  made  memorable  by  the  Medici;  I  have  visited 
the  battle-fields  of  Napoleon  and  have  witnessed  the  pomp 
and  pride  of  modern  military  power.  I  have  seen  the 
beauties  of  the  Rhine  and  the  grandeur  of  the  Alps.  I 
have  seen  all  conditions  of  people  on  the  continent,  and 
have  observed  their  institutions  and  studied  their  effects 


—  276  — 

upon  the  people.  I  have,  I  believe,  seen  all  that  is  calcu- 
lated to  arouse  the  emotions  and  stir  the  heart  to  pity. 
And  with  it  all,  I  have  seen  no  place  or  thing  which 
made  me  regret  being  an  American.  The  proudest 
moment  of  my  life  was  when  coming  away  from  the  old 
world,  I  first  again  beheld  my  native  land.  Now,  for  the 
first  time,  I  really  knew  the  difference  between  the  insti- 
tutions of  my  own  land  and  those  of  other  lands.  I  now, 
knew  that  to  be  an  American,   is  to  enjoy  liberties  and 

blessings  that  are  vouchsafed  to  no  other  people  on  earth. 
"  Land  of  my  sires!  what  mortal  hand 
Can  e'er  untie  the  filial  band 
That  knits  me  to  thy  rugged  strand!" 

To  a  student  of  human  nature,  no  better  opportunity 
to  prosecute  his  researches  in  his  special  study  could  be 
presented  than  a  "tramp  trip,"  with  a  score  of  compan- 
ions, in  Europe. 

During  three  or  four  months  of  such  travel,  with  all 
its  delights,  and  vicissitudes,  the  real  nature  of  the  indi- 
vidual will  reveal  itself  in  many  ways  and  in  many  places, 
and  at  many  times  in  spite  of  all  efforts  to  the  contrary. 

It  is  really  interesting  to  note  how  one  will  maintain 
his  equanimity  in  trying  circumstances  while  another  will 
lose  control  of  himself  entirely.  One  will  always  be  cheer- 
ful and  agreeable  while  another  delights  to  make  himself 
and  the  whole  party  feel  disagreeable  and  out  of  sorts. 

Given  a  party  of  twenty  people,  and  it  may  be  safely 
written  that  the  individual  tastes  differ,  the  temperaments 
are  unlike,  the  expectations  vary,  realizations  are  disap- 
pointing, but  to  each  in  a  different  degree:  and  the  director 


—  277  — 

or  manager  who  satisfies  each,  and  the  party  as  a  whole, 
not  only  must  possess  versatility,  an  aptitude  for  Hercu- 
lean efforts,  a  wonderful  tact  and  a  keen  insight  into  hu- 
man nature,  but  he  must  also  be  one  of  the  greatest  of 
heroes. 

What  does  the  poor  director  not  have  to  do?    He 
must  look  after  the  luggage  of  twenty  people,  he  must 
attend  to  twenty  sea-sick  mortals  and  be  snarled  at  and 
sworn  at  for  his  pains;  he  is  expected  to  buy  more  pleas- 
ure, better  hotel  accommodations,  hire  more  luxurious  car- 
riages and  coveyances,  do  more  personal  favors,  convey 
more  information,  obtain  better  guides  and  do  more  im- 
possible things  for  less  money  than  any  other  mortal 
man.     He  becomes  the  subject  of  unwarranted  criticism, 
harsh  censure,  and  cruel  ingratitude  on  the  part  of  those 
whom  he  is  striving  by  every  means  in  his  power  to  benefit 
and  to  please.    Three  months  with  such  a  party  will  give 
the  novelist  material  for  a  library.     The  actions,  speech 
and    general    conduct    are    sometimes    pathetic,    some- 
times  ridiculous;    but  more  often  they  are  the  expres- 
sion of  one's  real  nature  untrammeled  by  the  restraints 
of  conventionality.    During  all  the  time,  each  individual 
is  a  study.     He  cannot  help  it  any  more  than  he  can  help 
his  nature.     If  the  individual  is  selfish,  his  selfishness  is 
revealed  by  always  wanting  the  best  seat  in  the  car  or  the 
carriage,  or  the  best  post  of  observation.     If  he  is  single 
and  inclined  to  fall  in  love,  he  generally  succeeds  in  get- 
ting in  love  with  those  of  his  own  party,  of  course,  several 
times  before  the  trip  is  ended.     If  he  is  disposed  to  exag- 
gerate, he  is  continually  doing  some  wonderful  exploit 


—  278  — 

which  he  never  wearies  oi  telling.  If  he  is  vain,  his  feel- 
ings are  continually  hurt,  he  is  always  imposed  upon, 
or  forever  neglected  by  the  director  and  he  takes  every 
opportunity  to  tell  how  ardently  he  wishes  that  he  had 
made  the  trip  with  some  other  party.  In  making  a  trip 
in  Europe,  hundreds  of  ills,  grievances  and  annoyances 
come  to  him  who  will  but  look  for  them.  Why  do  so 
many  look  upon  the  dark  side  of  things  ?  They  go  out 
to  find  pleasure  and  receive  pain.  Annoyances  there  are, 
many  of  them ;  but  the  pleasure,  the  increased  knowledge, 
the  broadened  view  of  things,  the  hundreds  of  valuable 
facts  that  come  from  observation,  are  more  than  enough 
to  blot  out  all  vexations. 

It  may  be  said  that  the  foregoing  comments  are  not 

very  flattering  to  the  personnel  of  the  party.  Of  course, 
I  am  talking  not  of  ours,  but  of  the  "other  party." 

But  in  truth,  however  cultured,  however  refined, 
however  to  the  "Manor  born,"  the  careful,  polished,  cul- 
tured gentleman  zvill  sometimes  forget  himself,  during 
a  "tramp  trip"  in  Europe.  He  ought  not  to  do  so,  but 
he  does. 

\  It  is  a  trite  saying,  "that  I  want  to  travel  in  my  own 
country  before  I  go  abroad."  This  sounds  very  pretty 
and  patriotic,  and  all  that,  but  after  all  ic  depends  very 
much  upon  one's  object  in  traveling.  If  you  are  going 
only  to  see  mountains,  then  by  all  means  visit  ours. 

I  have  seen  as  good  scenery,  as  wild  and  rugged 
gulches,  as  steep  mountain  sides,  as  beautiful  valleys,  as 
pretty  streams  in  Colorado,  as  I  ever  saw  in  Switzerland. 


—  279  — 

Are  you  going  to  see  blue  skies  in  sunny  Italy?  By  all 
means  then  stay  in  Indiana.  I  have  seen  as  blue  sky,  as 
glorious  sunsets,  as  wonderful  combinations  of  sky  and 
cloud  and  sunlight  in  Indiana  as  ever  poet  sang  of  in 
Italy.  Are  you  going  to  see  cities,  merely  as  cities  ?  Then 
do  not  leave  America. 

Do  you  only  want  to  see  the  beauty  of  the  Rhine 
scenery?  Then  go  no  further  than  the  Hudson.  The 
writer  had  visited  a  considerable  portion  of  his  country 
before  he  went  to  Europe.  He  did  not  go  to  see  these 
things  except  as  they  are  incidents  of  the  trip.  He  was 
interested  in  the  conditions  of  toiling  millions  of  his  fellow 
men  living  in  countries  whose  government  has  been 
called  the  only  proper  form,  while  his  own  government 
is  called,  by  philosophers,  an  "experiment."  He  went  to 
Europe  to  see,  for  himself,  what  centuries  of  civilization 
have  done  for  the  millions  there. 

The  conditions  of  the  people,  the  institutions,  the 
customs  and  the  manners,  the  lines  along  which  society 
is  molded,  the  visible  effects  upon  mankind  of  these 
institutions  are  to  be  seen  there,  not  here.  A  trip  through 
Great  Britain  and  continental  Europe,  to  one  who  ob- 
serves with  ordinary  care  and  accuracy,  is  a  liberal  edu- 
cation. To  the  student  of  economic  questions,  nothing 
could  be  more  desirable. 

Having  the  experience  fresh  in  mind,  the  writer  can 
conscientiously  say  to  all  who  have  the  time  and  money 
and  who  are  inclined  to  learn,  and  to  grow,  that  such  a 
trip  as  ■ '  The  University  Tramp, ' '  will  be  of  great  value 


—  28o  — 

to  them,  even  if  they -have  not  traveled  through  their 
own  country. 

I  cannot  close  without  making-  my  acknowledg- 
ments to  our  director  for  the  energy,  tact,  kindness  and 
ability  which  he  brought  to  the  discharge  of  his  duties. 
Tried  as  no  man  was  ever  tried  before,  the  director  of  a 
party,  brought  together  from  several  States  and  the  mem- 
bers of  which  differed  widely  in  tastes,  desires  and  incli- 
nations, many  of  whom  did  not  hesitate  to  express  their 
thoughts,  upon  little  provocation,  he  cheerfully  and  earn- 
estly sought  to  make  the  trip  pleasant  and  agreeable 
to  each  member;  sacrificed  his  own  rest  and  pleasure  to 
minister  to  the  wants  of  others;  gave  valuable  suggestions 
as  occasion  required;  was  ever  accommodating,  kind, 
courteous  and  genial.  He  sought,  at  all  times,  to  secure 
us  the  best  accommodations  at  the  least  possible  price,  and 
was  always  considerate  and  careful  of  our  interests  and 
faithfully  discharged  the  duties  which  devolved  upon  him. 
I  can  cordially  commend,  to  his  care  and  protection,  any 
who  desire  to  take  a  summer  outing  in  Europe. 


THE  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

Santa  Barbara 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW. 


Series  9482 


UC  SOUTHERN  REi 


AA      000  328  341     3 


